Page 148 of Scars and Crowns

Anamika looks toward the garden. "Where did it go?"

Sara points dramatically at the hedge. "I think he went home."

Anamika laughs, wiping quickly beneath one eye. "Then I suppose we should let him."

I slip an arm around her waist as we walk toward Sara together. She keeps the flowers tucked carefully against her chest. Sara reaches for both our hands the moment we get close, taking mine with one hand and her mother's with the other.

Three people. Three hands joined. And for a moment, I don't think about everything that brought us here. I don't think about the years we lost or the things we survived or the future that still has difficult days waiting somewhere ahead.

I just look down at the little hand wrapped around mine.

This is all mine. This ridiculous bouquet. This crooked card. This woman walking beside me. This little girl swinging our joined hands between us. This home that somehow became ours without any of us noticing exactly when it happened.

Maybe that's how families are built. Not all at once. Not perfectly. But in tiny, ordinary pieces.

A word. A flower. A hand reaching for yours. A door opening.

Someone coming home. And two people waiting for her when she does.

EPILOGUE

YUVAAN

3 YEARS LATER

"If one more person asks me whether I'm craving something sweet, I swear I'm going to throw that entire fruit bowl at their head."

I look up from the report I've been pretending to read for the last ten minutes and find my wife standing in the doorway of my study, one hand braced against the frame, the other resting protectively over the enormous curve of her stomach.

She's seven months pregnant, exhausted, uncomfortable, and apparently at war with a bowl of perfectly innocent mangoes. "I haven't asked you anything," I point out carefully.

"You were thinking about asking."

I lower the report. "How exactly can you hear me thinking?"

"I've known you since I was a child. And we have been married for three years. I've developed the ability."

She makes her way into the room with the slow, careful steps she's been taking lately, lowering herself into the armchair opposite my desk with a sigh so dramatic that I have to bite back a smile.

"My back hurts," she announces. "My feet are swollen. I can't sleep properly. I can't bend down without reconsidering every decision I've ever made. And this morning Sara told me I waddle like Kairav Chacha's goose."

I make the mistake of speaking before thinking. "She isn't entirely wrong."

Silence.

I look up. Anamika is staring at me. I immediately put the report down. "I meant that affectionately."

"You have approximately three seconds to recover this conversation."

"You look beautiful."

"Better."

"Radiant."

Her mouth twitches.

"Pregnant in an extremely dignified and regal way."