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I thought that she would choose to have an abortion, like most girls in her position, but she was too far along by then. It’s hard enough to find a doctor to do the procedure in Colombo, but none of them would take the risk of losing a patient’s life. They would be taken in by the authorities in no time. We ended up hiring a midwife and having a home birth, right in my husband’s office, if you could believe it. So many rooms in our house and that’s the only one that’s soundproof.
And of course my husband insisted. Decided that we would take in the baby. But I had had enough. Don’t get me wrong—I adore little Nadia. She is sweet and kind and obedient, unlike either of her two elder sisters and certainly unlike her mother. But I had enough of Amaya and her conniving ways. The agreement was that we would take in her daughter and raise her as our own—despite my initial reservations and despite what it made us look like in society—but Amaya was to keep away. She was never to contact us, or Kaavindi, again. She agreed. What other choice did she have but to accept our generosity? She could barely take care of herself, much less a child.
EP: Mrs. Fonseka, this, well, this is quite a delicate question, and I apologize for having to ask it. Were you aware of who Nadia’s father was?
FF: Hmph—if you’re really serious about this investigation, my dear, you should probably have the guts to come out and say what you really mean. You’re asking, not delicately at all, I might add, whether the rumors are true. Whether my husband is Nadia’s father, am I right?
EP: I apologize, Mrs. Fonseka. We are just trying to establish a motive. A possible cause for—
FF: Well, establish this, my dear. My husband is a typical man. I’m sure he has his indiscretions. But his main fault is being too soft. Listens to his children and tries to be their friend without telling them what to do. Look at where that has led us? Children don’t need friends. They have plenty of friends. What they do need is someone to look out for them. To make sure that they don’t make decisions they regret. To live a life they would be proud to show to society.
We don’t know who Nadia’s father is. Neither do we care. It was probably one of the many men she no doubt had affairs with in the US.
17
AMAYA
The Night before the Wedding
WE’VE ALREADY ESTABLISHED that I was a wuss, right? That I was happy to float through life having decisions made for me. To have friends who would decide where I went and what kind of social life I would have, to have a lover who would tell me everything he wanted me to do in bed. I was happy to give up control. I’ve fought before. And it damn near killed me.
They say that what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger. I say that’s a lie. What doesn’t kill you can sometimes leave you paralyzed. That’s what happened to me.
I wish I had died. It’s coming close to six years now, and there are times I feel my mind forgets, but my body does not. And so I look for signs. To tell me that things would be okay.
Because we have so little control over what happens to us anyway, why shouldn’t we search for signs? For something to help us along. For something, anything, to help me along.
But here I am, about to do something that is very much in my control. I don’t want it to be in my control. I’m scared out of my mind. I can’t believe this is what I’ve turned into. More than five years of happily giving over control and now I’m trying to wrestle it back in the worst way possible.
I pulled out the knife and looked it over. It was sharp. I’d made sure of that.
There was no point overthinking this. I shoved the knife back in my bag and checked the time. 9:58 p.m. I waited till 10:10 p.m. just to be sure. I needed all the luck I could get.
I had to be extra careful to make sure my footsteps didn’t echo on the wooden floor. The old wing was usually not very busy. Most guests prefer to book a room in the newer section, with the larger bathrooms and more modern trimmings.
I hesitated at the bottom of the staircase. I knew the direction I was supposed to go. I knew what I had to do.
But still, something held me back.
Of course something held me back. This was ridiculous. I was going to do something ridiculous. I would be caught. Arrested.
There was a flight ticket, printed and stored safely away with my passport back at my house. I just needed to lie low afterward. The sooner I got on that plane back to the US the better.
I turned to my left, took a few steps, and paused. There was one last thing I could do.
Then I turned around and walked all the way down to room 112, where I knew Kaavi was staying. The only one in the entire wedding party in the old wing. She would be alone. I tried to think about that, and not how her room number just missed the mark on being lucky. I hoped it wasn’t a sign of things to come.
It felt like I was sleepwalking. Like my body moved on its own, without me controlling it.
I reached up and knocked on her door.
“Just a minute,” she called out.
I reached into my bag and felt for my knife. It was still there. Of course it was still there.
I took a deep breath. Held it.
1. 2. 3. 4—
The door swung open.
“Look, now really isn’t a good time.” She was frowning, still in her sari jacket that she was tugging at.
She started to close the door on me, but I pushed my knee up against it.