‘Ragini was never my friend and you were never my husband. I am also pregnant and we are going to have a baby,’ I say and with the last of my energy, wrench my arm free.

I head straight into the kitchen and search for food. I am so hungry, so tired.

Sid does not follow me into the kitchen, but paces outside.

I make some salad—cucumber and tomatoes only—liberally sprinkle chat-masala and eat it standing in the kitchen. Next I cook two eggs, sunny-side up, and wash everything down with a glass of warm milk with honey in it. I feel some of my energy coming back but I desperately need to sleep.

I walk out of the kitchen and walk straight towards our—my—the bedroom. Sid tries to block my way.

‘Polly, we need to talk about this—this news,’ he says.

I sidestep him and keep walking. He stands in the doorway of the room—clenching, unclenching his fists—and glares at me.

‘I know this is a shock for you. I am sorry about that. But will you please behave rationally?’ he says, his voice somewhat loud. ‘We both can’t afford this ba—this unwanted pregnancy. We’re getting a divorce and—’

‘Are we?’ I ask him, ‘When was that decided?’

‘I—we’ve just spent all that time talking—’ Sid splutters and I realize he doesn’t look as good when he splutters.

‘By talking do you mean the bit where you told me we were getting divorced?’ I ask.

Sid simply stares at me.

‘Does your mother know?’ I ask.

‘Yes, I told her earlier—if it makes you feel better, she doesn’t want us to get divorced. She really—’

‘Loves me? Really, I hadn’t realized in all this while,’ I say.

‘No she doesn’t love you, but she’s fond of you. Truthfully though—see I am trying to be honest with you—my mother will prefer anyone over Lata. She—they don’t really get along,’ Sid says lamely.

‘Really? But I thought your mother really liked her—with her creamy skin and lustrous hair …’ I stop myself from saying anything further.

I also hate myself for sounding the way I do—spiteful, jealous, and sarcastic. But what am I supposed to sound like? Understanding, accommodating, forgiving?

‘How do you know about Lata—about her skin and hair?’ Sid asks suspiciously.

Oh I wore her bra. And read the porn you wrote to each other. And saw her half-naked picture that you had clicked. Were you naked when you took that picture Sid?

But I don’t say any of it.

‘I have to sleep,’ I say.

‘We need to have a frank and open discussion about the b—pregnancy,’ Sid demands, then tries to make it sound like a request, ‘Please Polly we—’.