“Can’t you see that no one thing anyone did could cause that accident?” Priam asked. “If you want to take that route, you could blame Vicki and me for encouraging your mum to go watch you box—which we did, you know.”

I looked up at him. “You did?”

“Of course! She was so uncertain about it—the violence and all. We were uncertain about it too. But we knew it would mean something to you. So maybe the accident is our fault. We didn’t know how nervous it would make you.” He looked at Vicki and shrugged as though he really wasn’t sure. She smiled at him with reassurance and held his hand.

I knew he was just trying to make me see the error in my reasoning, but this new piece of information actually brought up a tiny ounce of anger in my chest. Maybe it was their fault. Then I felt like a jerk thinking that.

“I don’t blame you,” I said, the words barely audible.

Vicki leaned over the table. “And we don’t blame you, Daya. No one blames you. It’s not anyone’s fault.”

I wanted to believe them. But I’d told myself my own version for so long, I’d convinced myself it was true. Fact. I was starting to see that facts could blur and re-form into something different if you let them.

“Daya.” Priam leaned forward and took my hand in his. “Where will it get you? This believing you caused such a terrible thing? Where has it gotten you so far?”

Nowhere good. That’s for sure.

I needed a different story.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Hey, punk. Get your little brown butt in here.” Fee’s body filled the doorframe. By “here” I thought they meant inside the house, but when I climbed up the steps and they didn’t move aside, I realized they meant into a hug. Fee’s arms spread wide and pulled me in, smushing me against their chest. We’d never hugged before and I was a little thrown off, but I was too exhausted to resist. Truth be told, I didn’t really want to resist anyway.

After talking to Vicki and Priam last night, I’d needed to lie down for a bit. My head ached, what with all the emoting and processing. But once I’d closed my eyes, I just became even more aware of the thump of my heartbeat, the mixture of pain and longing, confusion and gratitude moving through my chest. Talking about Amma and Thatha had brought up so many feelings—ones I’d tried to bury, like guilt and sadness, yes, but also waves of appreciation and love that I’d forgotten had been part of the package as well. Eventually, though, my exhaustion got the better of me and I’d drifted to sleep.