‘I need to sleep, Sid. Pregnancy makes you really tired in the first trimester. I need to be strong for the baby. Goodnight.’

I walk straight towards him and he has no choice but to step aside. I go inside the bedroom and lock the door. I strip off my clothes and get into bed. I stare at the ceiling fan and realize it needs dusting. Perhaps dirty ceiling fans are Lalita’s headache now—soon my husband and my home are going to be hers … My tears start flowing.

14

Walk All Over Me

I sleep for ten hours. I don’t remember getting up to pee but I must have because I’m wearing my nightie now. I don’t remember wearing it when I went to bed.

I prop up a pillow and sit in bed with my eyes closed.

It’s a working Saturday and I’m already late for work. I know that once I go in, Comma will lecture me the whole day about Bride’s offer.

Trishala. I only know of two people with that name—the Bride and actor Sanjay Dutt’s daughter. Ragini has always laughed at me for remembering details about Bollywood folk.

‘You know more about their life stories than they do!’ she said.

But now it appears Ragini has always laughed at me, mocked me. She thinks I am a doormat. Comma thinks I am a doormat. Sid thinks I am a doormat.

What does Lalita think? I don’t suppose she thinks much about me. Why should she? She knows Sid loves her, knows he will leave me for her, knows I can do nothing.

I close my eyes as the tears start flowing again. What have I done to deserve all this?

What have I ever done to Ragini to deserve her hatred and contempt? I didn’t force her to be my friend.

I don’t deserve my marriage falling apart. I did everything I could do to keep it together—I cooked, I kept the house reasonably clean, I’ve never said no to Sid for anything. I’ve respected his mother and treated her like a queen whenever she’s lived with us. I’ve done everything my mother told me keeps a man happy, to keep a marriage. I even bought that ridiculous lacy bra …

What’s my fault? Why do I deserve a man who was—is—in love with someone else?

What about my baby? Oh, but I have always, so, so wanted a baby, fantasized about holding my own little bundle who smells of Johnson’s baby powder, with tiny fingers and toe nails … In each of my baby-fantasies, I’ve had an adoring husband looking at our baby with me. Doesn’t my baby—my unborn, innocent baby—deserve a father?