Page 63 of Born in Grief

“Dammit Goody. I was just starting to understand you.”

“I’ll be there on time in the whitest outfit I can produce overnight.”

“What like the ghost in those terrible Hindi movies?”

“Exactly like that. They have no idea what’s coming back to haunt them.” She smiled sweetly even as her hand tightened painfully on Amay’s neck.

Virat met Amay’s eyes, a question in them. Amay nodded. Dhrithi had his full trust and support. Always.

And then, Virat looked at her, a small smile breaking through his stress and fatigue. “Talk to me,” he invited.

And she did, detailing her plan one step at a time.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

DHRITHI

Dread swirled in Dhrithi’s stomach as she stared up at the mansion that had been her home for years. Every tile, every brick, every fabric in this home had been witness to her screams, to her pleas, to her endless silent tears. The thought of entering this space again almost brought her to her knees. Almost.

Her fingers clenched at her side as beads of sweat built along her hairline trickling down the side of her face. She dabbed at it with the edge of the blindingly white dupatta she had draped over her head, the very picture of the perfect bahu.

She should go in. But her feet wouldn’t move. They seemed to be rooted to the spot, cementing themselves into the paved driveway she stood on. She was already ten minutes late. The Gokhales demanded punctuality. In the past, she’d paid heavily for every minute she was late. She was sure she would today as well. The only difference was today, she hoped to return it with interest.

Could she? She tilted her head back looking up to the terrace framed by the ornate, white balustrade. He’d held her by theback of her neck, threatening to throw her off from there one night. Her fingers trembled at the memory as she clenched them in the folds of the white Anarkali kurta she’d bought for today. She was dressed for the part she meant to play but could she pull it off?

Her phone rang and she dug it out from the handbag hanging from her shoulder.

“Hello.”

“You’ve got this.” Amay’s calm baritone rumbled through the phone calming her, settling her racing heart and quelling the nausea that threatened to spew over.

She placed a palm over her chest, allowing her steadier heartbeat to settle her head too. “I’m doing the right thing,” she whispered.

“You are.”

“Then why am I so scared?”

He fell silent for a moment. “Anything worth having, worth doing, comes at a cost,” he said finally. “Sometimes that cost is fear.”

She swallowed hard, old memories rising up to grip her by the throat. “Sometimes the cost is too high.”

“You’ve already paid it, sweetheart.” His voice dropped an octave, feeling almost like a caress through the phone. “You’ve paid more than your dues to the Gokhales, to your family, and to life in general. The only person you owe anything to is yourself. If you don’t want to do this, you don’t have to, Dhriths. Come back. Come home.”

Home.

For the first time in a long time, the word resonated with her. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t take a step forward without burying the past first. She steeled herself, her grip on the phone tightening.

“I will,” she replied. “Once I’m done with this.”

“Dhriths?” Amay’s voice anchored her, making her fears recede like snow fleeing the sun.

“Yes?”

“You’re not alone. You have us.”

Us, he said. Us, not me.

She fought the disappointment that swirled through her but forced herself to say, “I’m grateful for that. Especially after-”

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