Page 23 of The Defiant Wife

When she speaks again, her voice is quieter. "I don't have mumma or papa."

The crayon in her hand pauses. Something shifts inside me. I don't know what. Just something.

I look down.

Her eyes remain fixed on the paper. Not sad. Not emotional. Almost detached. As if she's reciting a fact she's repeated enough times that it no longer hurts.

Which somehow hurts more.

"When I first came here," she continues softly, "I was always causing trouble."

I remain silent.

She keeps coloring. Yellow.

"People looked at me like I was bad." Her shoulders lift in a small shrug. "I broke things."

Another yellow stroke. "I yelled or hid."

Another. "I pushed people." Then she finally looks up. "But Diya didi never got angry."

My chest tightens unexpectedly.

Rani smiles faintly. The expression is tiny. Barely there. But genuine. "She talked to me instead."

Something about that sentence lingers.

Talked to me instead.

Not punished. Not ignored. Not dismissed. Just talked.

The little girl points toward the opposite side of the room. "Raj can't hear."

I follow her gaze. Raj sits near the window, completely focused on his drawing. He's quiet. Observant. Much like Rani.

"Diya didi learned sign language for him."

I look back at her.

Rani nods confidently. "So he doesn't feel alone."

The simplicity with which she says it leaves me strangely speechless. As though learning an entirely new language for a child isn't extraordinary. As though it's obvious.

Of course she did. She's Diya. What else would she do?

Rani continues talking.

About how Diya remembers everyone's birthdays. How she stays late whenever someone is sick. How she reads bedtimestories. How she never forgets promises. How she somehow knows when someone is upset before they say anything.

Each story sounds more ridiculous than the last.

Not because I don't believe them. Because I do. Entirely. Without question.

I've only known Diya for a little over a week and even I can see it. Everything here revolves around her. Not because she demands it. Because she gives so much of herself away that people naturally gravitate toward her.

The children don't adore her because she's their caretaker. They adore her because she loves them first. And maybe that's why they love her so fiercely.

Rani finishes coloring another section of her house before glancing up at me again.