Nithya nodded. “Until they could save some money and get enough work to move out. But Luis, the bigger issue is the money for travel and visas. If they have passports, they can come as tourists. Otherwise, we have to sponsor them for asylum. And either way, I don’t think they have money for sub-orbs or flights. We can buy the tickets… if we spend all our savings.”

“You’ve been worried sick about this girl.” Luis paused. “Pope Francis said that poverty is the flesh of the poor Jesus. If we can help her family to a better life, we should.”

Nithya’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “I love you.”

She kept a passive feed open and watched him exit the car in the faint light of dawn. A road stretched behind him, clear and gray, but in front a five-centimeter layer of dust blocked the way. City vehicles continued to clear the debris and sand from the storm, but it was a slow process and they didn’t have the equipment to make it faster. From this point, he’d make his way on foot.

Poor Luis. She didn’t envy his task of dealing with Oscar, and yet her husband had the compassion to welcome near strangers into their home. Nithya felt a stab of guilt about the abortion. Had she failed to give him enough credit? Would he have accepted her decision even if he couldn’t agree with it? Mixing the two religions in their family had never been easy, but they respected each other, and they discussed how to raise Carma.

She had told herself that keeping her secret was best for Luis, but was it truly? Or was she being easy on herself? Either way, it nagged at her like a sprained ankle. She could forget for a while, but inevitably, something brought back the pain. She had to confess before it tore her—and their marriage—apart. When he returns home, then I’ll tell him the truth. She couldn’t help the sense of relief that came with postponement.

She had one more difficult call—to her least favorite but only living aunt, her mother’s younger sister. She preferred to send a message, but Aunty would consider it rude, and she needed to ask for a big favor.

“Bhairavi Chitthi, how are you?” Nithya opened the call in Tamil, as respectfully as she could.

“Well, my dear, I’m surviving, waiting for the inevitable. It would be nice if you visited more. It would take you less than one hour to get here. How are you and Carma?”

“We’re doing well, but Luis is away for an emergency. His father’s house is half-gone from a big storm.”

“Oh, that’s terrible! Do you need help? Do you want me to come?”