Page 25 of Born in Grief

Again, Dhrithi didn’t get a chance to reply. Her mother spoke up this time. “Of course, she hasn’t. Why would she? There is nothing to complain about.”

“Then why are the cops hounding us?” Varun’s father was like a dog with a bone. “My son is dead!”

“And I’m in the hospital.” Dhrithi’s quiet voice rang through the room, cutting off the rest of his tirade. “I’m doing much better, by the way. Thank you for asking.”

Varun’s father’s face flushed a dull, mottled red. “Don’t say a word,” he said, his voice low, the venom in it a living thing.

“About what, Papa?”

The vein in his temple bulged, pulsing like it was going to burst out of his forehead. “You know what!” he said, his hands clenching into fists.

“No, I don’t, Papa. You just said nothing happened right? All of you did. So what would I ‘not say a word’ about?”

“Careful,” Bharat Gokhale said. One word but it landed with the weight of a hammer.

Her father laughed nervously. “Why are we all being so serious? No one is talking about anything to anyone. Once Dhrithi is well and back home with you all, you can discuss things in more detail as a family and-“

“About that,” Varun’s mother spoke for the first time. “Dhrithi can’t be alone so going back to her house is out of the question. There is no one to care for her. We think it’s best for Dhrithi to recover in your home. After all, when a child is sick, she needs her parents the most. She will want her mother to nurse her back to health.”

Dhrithi’s mother squawked, a strangled sound of protest. The only thing she nursed was her drink every evening.

“And your home?” Dhrithi’s father asked, a muscle ticking in his jaw.

“Pest control treatment,” Varun’s father responded without a hitch in his voice. “The chemicals involved are not recommended for recovering patients.”

“Well, she can’t come to our house!” Dhrithi’s mother screeched.

“Why not?” Bharat Gokhale raised an eyebrow at the hysterical woman. “She is your daughter, after all.”

“And after marriage, she became yours!” Dhrithi’s mother spat back.

Dhrithi’s eyes drifted to the door.

You’re mine. Like I’m yours. Always.

The only person who’d ever said those words to her had walked out that door.

All around her, the older folk continued to squabble like children with a broken toy, one that they were done playing with and no longer wanted ownership of.

“It’s fine,” she croaked, still watching the door. “Nobody needs to take me home with them. I’ll find somewhere to stay.”

“You can’t go to the home Varun and you shared,” her mother-in-law warned her. “The staff have been sent home and it’s locked.”

“You can’t get away with this,” Dhrithi’s father seethed. “I know what you’re trying to do and I won’t let you.”

Varun’s father stood, a thin smile stretching his lips. “Watch me,” he said softly before glancing at Dhrithi one last time. He hesitated, a bare second, as he met her steady gaze. “Take care,” he said, with a small nod. And then they were gone. Her mother-in-law didn’t even bother to look back.

“Have you gone mad?” her father shouted, the sound resounding in the empty room. “They are trying to cut you out.”

“I know.” Dhrithi turned her face towards the wall and shut her eyes. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to give me anything either.”

“And what are you going to live on? Love and fresh air?”

Maybe just fresh air. Dhrithi didn’t hope for love, not anymore. Her gaze went to the shut door again. He wouldn’t be back. Not today. And if she got discharged soon, then she’d never see him again. Ever again.

“Let me worry about that,” she told her parents now.

“And who is going to worry about us?”

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