Saints Of The Household

Having an Awakenist as my wife meant enduring her monkish attitude toward sex. We could only be intimate on the sixteenth of every month. Every detail—my position, rhythm, even my expression—had to follow her rigid rules. If I showed too much pleasure, she would immediately rise and leave. We had been married for five years. Was I ever tired of this? Yes. Still, I always gave in. I accepted these limitations because I loved her. "The Saintess loves me too," I told myself. That faith shattered the day I was sent to extinguish a hotel fire. Amid the flames, I found my wife pressed close to a man in disheveled clothes. Between their arms was a young boy.

After three years of living with my wife’s family, everyone thought they could treat me like a pushover. Me? I’m just waiting for her to hold my hand before I can give her the world.

After Christmas, I went on a vacation. For the trip back, I failed to get a train ticket with a sleeping berth. Thus, I was tired and mussed when I got home. When I opened the door, someone shoved a bunch of cleaning tools at me. The man sneered at me and commanded, “Hurry up! You need to finish cleaning this place before 6:00 p.m.!” I looked at him and saw that he was wearing my father’s silk pajamas. I took a few steps back to check that yes, this was my family’s two-story mansion. It was my home, but who was this man? And what was this about cleaning? Did the man intend for me to clean? I was the son of the owners of the house! I messaged the family’s group chat and mentioned my mother. The message read, [@Mom, your boytoy is asking me to clean the place up. What gives?]

We had been married for three years, and together, our income was decent at twenty-six grand a month. Yet, we barely had two hundred bucks in savings. My husband was a nice guy, lending practically his entire wages to our next-door widow and her daughter. He covered their expenses when the daughter needed money for school, when the widow needed a little time at the spa, and when they wanted to give their home a new facelift. The moment my father fell ill and needed surgery, I went next door to ask for the money back. However, my neighbors slammed the door in my face. “Your husband chose to give us the money. Why should we pay you back?” Enraged, I sought help from my husband, only to be criticized. “I felt bad for them. Why did you demand payment when they are already struggling? What’s wrong with you?” I smirked. That night, I decided to do a good deed by spending my entire paycheck to help a broke college hunk. The next day, our power was cut off for unpaid bills, and my husband lost an unfinished document he hadn’t saved. Putting his finger up my nose, he gave me a piece of his mind. “Where’s your money? Why didn’t you pay the bills?” I replied with the most innocent look on my face, “I helped a struggling college student. His life was falling apart because he had to deal with a sick mom and a deadbeat dad. His needs should come before the utility bills.”

The male housekeeper turned our entire home upside down. Every woman in the house—my mother, my sister—fell completely under his spell. They gave him everything, even the business my dad had built from the ground up. The betrayal went deeper. My own girlfriend turned on me, stabbing me in the back to win his favor. Their schemes finally went too far. They arranged a "car accident" that took my dad's life and mine. But fate had other plans. We were reborn.

When the House Fell Silent is a gripping and emotional family saga that delves into the lives of five siblings — Abby, Aubrey, Tshepo, Mathapelo, and the youngest, Gail — after the sudden death of their father. The novel explores the struggles of grief, the challenges of responsibility, the shadows of abuse, and the weight of family expectations. As the siblings navigate the complexities of marriage, work, and personal trauma, their mother emerges as a steadfast pillar, guiding them through turmoil while facing her own battles as an unemployed matriarch. With in-laws disputing the will and old family wounds resurfacing, the narrative captures the resilience, heartbreak, and courage required to survive. Told with intensity and sensitivity, this novel is a tale of love, loss, and the enduring strength of family bonds. Through trials and triumphs, When the House Fell Silent is ultimately a story of hope, healing, and the voices that must rise to reclaim a family’s future.