Chapter 10
Six months later.
The apartment was full of light.
Full of noise.
Full of love.
Lila was nine months old now.
Crawling everywhere, getting into everything, laughing so loud the neighbors probably heard her.
She had Maya’s eyes.
Her smile.
Her dad’s stubbornness, according to Maya.
Maya was healthier than ever.
Her hair was long enough to pull back in a small ponytail.
She’d gone back to work part-time, at the local library, helping kids with their homework.
She glowed.
Every single day.
We’d used the money from the countersuit to pay off all our medical bills.
Put a down payment on a small house on the edge of the city.
With a big backyard for Lila to run around in.
A garden where Maya planned to grow sunflowers and tomatoes.
Ananya came to visit every month.
She was Lila’s godmother.
Spoiled her rotten with toys and candy, taught her silly songs in Hindi and German.
Rohit was over every weekend.
Grilling in the backyard, teaching Lila to throw a ball, complaining that we were “too happy” and it was making him look bad.
We’d invited Dr. Fischer over for dinner once a month.
She’d become family too.
Brought Lila books, told us stories about other patients who’d beaten the odds.
Tonight was our first wedding anniversary.
The second time around.
We’d put Lila to bed an hour before.
She was asleep in her crib, clutching her favorite stuffed rabbit.
Maya and I were sitting on the balcony of the new house.
Watching the sun set over the hills.
The same pink and orange and purple as the night I’d proposed.
She was wearing the white dress from the wedding.
The ring glinted on her finger.
I handed her a glass of wine.
Clinked mine against hers.
“Happy anniversary, Mrs. Mehta.”
She smiled.
That smile that still made my heart skip a beat.
“Happy anniversary, Mr. Mehta.”
We sat in silence for a while.
Watching the sky darken.
The first stars come out.
“Remember that day in the hospital?” Maya said soft.
“When you found me? I thought I was gonna die alone. I thought no one would ever love me again. That I’d never be happy.”
She turned to look at me.
Eyes glistening in the starlight.
“I was so wrong. You gave me everything. You fought for me. You loved me even when I didn’t love myself. I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
I pulled her onto my lap.
Wrapped my arms around her.
“You deserved everything,” I said.
“Every good thing. You fought too. You were so brave. Braver than I’ll ever be. I’m just lucky you let me back in.”
She kissed me.
Soft, slow, sweet.
“Forever,” she whispered against my lips.
“Forever,” I promised.
A small sound came from inside the house.
Lila, waking up, making her happy babble sounds.
Maya laughed.
“Duty calls.”
She stood up.
I grabbed her hand.
Stood with her.
We walked into the house together.
Into the nursery.
Lila was standing up in her crib, holding onto the rails, grinning when she saw us.
Maya picked her up.
Held her close.
Lila snuggled into her mom’s chest.
Grabbed a fistful of Maya’s hair.
We stood there for a long time.
In the soft glow of the nightlight.
Holding our daughter.
Holding each other.
I thought about that day two years before.
The day I’d walked into the hospital to see Rohit.
The day I’d almost walked right past Maya.
The day I’d almost lost everything forever.
I thought about the divorce.
The miscarriages.
The cancer.
The cruelty of a family that was supposed to love her.
The fight.
The tears.
The joy.
The love that had pulled us through every single hard thing.
Maya looked up at me.
Lila in her arms.
Smiling.
“I’m safe now, Arjun,” she said.
“Completely safe. I’m loved. I’m home. We’re home.”
I kissed her forehead.
Kissed Lila’s soft hair.
“Yeah, baby,” I said.
“We’re home. Forever.”
Outside, the sun finished setting.
The stars came out bright and clear.
Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
Inside, our house was warm.
Full of light.
Full of love.
Full of the family we’d fought so hard to build.
And for the first time in both our lives.
May you like
We knew.
Everything was going to be okay.
