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And I knew that. I’d always known it. But… “Ammamma.”

“Devan.”

“Was I there when it happened? When he killed her?” I held my breath.

“No,” she said.

It wasn’t that I didn’t believe her. It was just that I didn’t know. “Where?”

“With me.” She sighed and slumped in her rocker, toes trailing the floor. “Your mother was going to leave, at last. She went back to get her things—he wasn’t supposed to be home. I wanted to go with her, but she didn’t want to take you back there.”

My fingertips felt numb. Or was that my brain? “She was scared.”

“Yes. And so was I.” She frowned. “But not scared enough.”

I shook my head again, this time in protest. I didn’t remember much about either my mother or my father—and while I was grateful for the latter, the former was… difficult. I did know, however, that my mother and Ammamma had been on their own for a very long time before my she met my father. My mother’s father died young, while my Ammamma was finishing her PhD. After that, it was just the two of them for a decade and more.

They would’ve done anything for each other. And then for me. And I knew, “It’s not your fault.”

“No.” But she scrunched up her nose as if she wasn’t so sure.

I’d always known she blamed herself, at least a little. But I’d never really thought about what it was like to outlive your own husband—and then your only child.

She went on, “But I’ll always wonder if I could’ve done more. Made another choice. Saved her, too.”

I protested, “You saved me.”

“And you saved me very shortly after.” Her eyes crinkled with the faintest, saddest smile. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without you. The grief.”

Everyone in Hyderabad had wanted her to come home, when her husband died. She’d refused, found herself a position at a community college, worked her way up to a tenured position at a prestigious private university. Raised my mother on her own—unheard of in a traditional family like ours, where children were raised by all the aunties and uncles, with cousins almost as siblings, and everyone had help and support. And gossip and interference.

But Amma had refused to leave her life and return to theirs. What a fucking badass.

I was looking for a way to articulate all this when she said, “What happens in the nightmares? You never told me.”

I didn’t much want to. I’d been freaked out enough telling my therapist, and I didn’t care what she thought of me. Amma, though… I sighed. “I’m under the bed.”

“Ah.” She shook her head. “I should’ve told you the whole story, not just the barest details. I’m sorry, Devan. I didn’t know how to…”

I smiled. “Protect me?”

“Yes.”

“You did.” I pressed the heels of my hands into my eyes as they began to burn. “No one was there to protect you and Mom. You had to do it all yourself.”

“Only until you were old enough. Now you act like the parent sometimes.”

I laughed and let my hands fall into my lap. “You don’t have to stay in that world. Not for me. If this is where you want to be…”

She smiled faintly. “Well, now I don’t. I suppose you’ll want to visit now and then too?”

I shot her a look.

She smirked. “I see how he looks at you.”

I tried to stay judgy but I couldn’t help smiling.

“I always liked the lumberjack type, myself. Not the cleverest name, though. Jack Greenwood.” She joined me in a little laugh but went serious again quickly. “Be careful. Even if he was human once, he’s not now. He’s part of… this.”