Page 115 of The Art of Taking Second Chances

“Any time now.”

“How did she deteriorate so rapidly? I was here three days ago.”

“Her pain is too much to handle.”

I raked a trembling hand through my hair. He patted my shoulder and said, “We’ll wait.”

We didn’t have to wait long. Sangita passed away in her sleep that night, painlessly, thanks to the morphine. Riya hugged me as she wept. She stayed close while I finished up the paperwork at the hospital. I asked if she wanted to inform Sangita’s parents. She shook her head.

“They never came to visit. We don’t exist for them, Mumma said.” Sobbing, she pulled a letter from her pocket. “Mumma wrote this last week. She asked me to give it to my father when she was gone.”

I kissed the top of her head and took it from her.

We gathered Sangita’s belongings and followed the ambulance to a crematorium. According to Hindu customs, it was the prerogative of the husband or the son to light the pyre. It was also their duty to perform the last rites for the transition of the soul into the other world. But Sangita had neither. She had a beautiful daughter.

I asked Riya what she wanted. She was a brave child, but a child nonetheless. I didn’t want to impose on her to perform the last rites, nor did I want to take away her agency to decide otherwise. It was a tricky line to walk.

The electric cremation was simpler, with no spectacle, no smell, and no sound of the cracking bones. As Riya, Amar, and I bid farewell to a beautiful Sangita whose life I had ruined, I wept without shame, not caring about the few other families who were there cremating their own loved ones. I had taken away her love and left her to die in loneliness. Riya held my hand tightly as she wept, and I let all my grief and guilt flow out with hers. Her gut-wrenching scream tore through my heart when Sangita’s body slid into the chamber and the fire gripped it in a hungry embrace before the lid closed shut. I held her firmly against me, almost carrying her back to the car.

We returned to Amar’s home, showered, and had a light breakfast that Taiji had prepared. Riya refused to eat, just as she refused to go to bed. I sat with her on a couch in the living room until she fell asleep against my shoulder. I laid her down and covered her with a light blanket.

“I’ll take her to get her things when she wakes up,” I said to Amar.

“It will be difficult for her to go back home and not see her mother.”

“Do you think I should go alone?”

“No, we should let her decide,” Amar said.

“I must get lawyers to sort out the status of that house. I think it’s still in my name.”

Amar put a hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry about that right now. Those things will happen in time. Just take care of Riya. We’ll manage the other things. Dad’s lawyers will get all the formalities sorted.”

I hugged him. “Thank you for everything, bhai. I owe you big.”

“Keep Tara happy, and we’ll call it even.”

“That’s the plan.” I smiled back.

We strolled into the dining room, where Taiji had laid out tea and snacks. When we were alone again, I said to him, “She told me about the pregnancy.”

He nodded. “Good.”

“You should’ve called me immediately.”

“You had already left India when she told me, and she didn’t want me to approach you about it. She feared you’d think it was a ploy to get money from the rich guy who had ditched her.”

His words stunned me. “What?”

He shrugged. “You were in bad shape, Sameer, but so was she. I guarded her secret the same way she did mine. You wouldn’t have heard it from me, ever.”

“I see, professor.”

He shrugged.

“I can’t believe fate gave me another chance after I blew the first one so spectacularly.” I threw my head back with a sigh.

“Don’t mess this one up. You won’t get another.”

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