Page 11 of Runaway in the Mafia
“I’m fine, Papa.” Disappointment coasted through my veins when I saw my mother walking past behind him. “You’re not in the office?”
“I was feeling a bit tired. Your old man is getting old now. Can’t always be the workaholic now, can I?”
My smile wobbled. No child wanted to see their foundation growing weak before their eyes. It hurt to see him like this. “You are sixty-one, Papa, that’s like the new fifties.”
“Ha, tell that to my heart. It might disagree.”
I heard my mother grumbling in the background. “What’s Maa saying?”
He rolled his eyes and ignored my question. I already knew whatever she had said wasn’t kind enough to repeat. “So, what have you been up to? You haven’t called for two weeks.”
“It’s not been two weeks.”
“Last time you called was the Tuesday before Devi’s wedding.” My mother’s voice flattened my lie instantly.
I grimaced. “I guess it has been two weeks, then. I was busy.”
“Doing what?” My mother came into view, carrying her suspicion with her.
Papa frowned at her. “What’s got into you? She’s married. She doesn’t need to ask permission from us.”
“Not us. Is she asking Rajesh? Where are you now? Where is Rajesh?”
My cheeks cracked. I fought to keep the fake smile pasted on it. This is the exact reason that I called my father. Never my mother. As if her refusal to believe me wasn’t enough, her judgement was daunting. Sucked the energy right out of me. I called Papa when I knew he would be in his office. Too bad luck wasn’t part of the program today.
“I’m fine, Maa, thank you for asking.” I didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm. “I’m out in the city.” I looked beyond my phone to make sure no one was around.
“Rajesh allowed you to walk around London alone?” Her voice was laced with doubt. I guess she knew my husband well. He wouldn’t even allow me out in the garden alone.
“No. He’s getting a haircut. I’m just seated across the street.” The lie slipped out as easily as oil on marble.
“You make sure we don’t hear any complaints.”
Papa glared at her. “What has got into you? Did you speak to your mother again? When you talk to that woman, your thoughts always roll back a hundred years. She’s our daughter. We want her happiness. Nothing else.”
“You don’t understand, Vad. Geetha spoke to me yesterday and she didn’t sound happy—”
“I don’t care about her happiness.” Papa’s voice strained before he turned the conversation back to me, and nervous energy trilled through the phone. “You don’t need to worry about your mother-in-law. Are you happy, Ahana?”
Karma might have been a bitch to me, but I got the best damn father in the world. But he was wrong. It was never about my happiness. I was a daughter. Society’s eyes were on me the moment I let my first cry out. Did I cry too soon, too loud? Was my body too thin, too thick? Was I too dark, too pale? Each breath I took was an opportunity for me to fail. So my happiness wasn’t a factor in it.
If it had been, I could tell him I chose myself. I could tell him I left my wife-beating, jealous, obsessed husband. Maybe Papa would have put my happiness before society. But I cared more about his. He was my world, and I’d do anything to make it a happy place for him. I never wanted to see my father fail. I would never give society the power to do it. I knew that.
I wanted to tell him I was happy now. I wanted to tell him about my new job. He would be proud, I was sure of that.
Instead, I forced another lie out of my dry, sore throat. “Of course I’m happy.”
Next to him, my mother’s lips pinched. She saw my lie and she chose what women have done for years. She chose to ignore it.
It tookme an hour to recover. Another to get the bus and get back to my new home. The bus was heated by the sun, and we passed warm, smiling faces along the curvy, gravelled road.But icy hands had found their way to my slow-beating heart. Realisation seeped into me. It was deadly as a thick black snake on a lonely path. I was never going to find my way out of this. It wasn’t guesswork. It was my reality. I shouldn’t have walked out. The agony of a broken body had given me no other choice. Now doubt, cold and withered, slithered along my veins. Not for the decision I had made, but the consequences I had to face.
Walking away might have rid me of him, but my family would have to know the painful truth. My lungs squeezed when I thought about the shame that Papa would have to face. His extended family, his colleagues, his friends. Everyone would find an opportunity in this. I shouldn’t have done this. I knew that for sure.
It had only been four months. I should have stayed.
He’d only hit me on six different occasions. I should have sucked it up like Maa told me to. Maybe she was right... maybe I pushed him to do it. Maybe it was my imagination.
I should have crawled back to him and taken his words and his deeds. Kept my mouth shut and my thoughts hidden. I could have done it until my death, and no one would have been the worse for it. Especially my father. The reputation of my family would have been intact. But I hadn’t thought, and I had run. I should have known better. A girl could never be the one to bring down a family’s reputation. I had made a mistake.
