Inside the car, his mind drilled down on the idea, working out the numbers. He could use the line of credit for this business, but then the family budget would be too tight. Layla made sure to remind him of that. He racked his brain for a solution. A second income! But not Ashif. He didn’t want him to take on the responsibility of finances at such a young age. He needed to focus on his education. He decided to ask Layla to take a job instead. In Uganda, he would have never allowed it. A wife working would have been a sign of his failure as a husband. But he’d swallow his pride. Change with the times. He was, after all, a modern man. Besides, it was just temporary. Only until his business was on solid ground.

But what job could Layla take? He needed to think of a job that suited her, but one that wouldn’t interfere with her duties at home. A home-based cooking business. Yes, that was it. She loved to cook. She would be able to take care of the family and earn some money, too. A perfect combination. That was what every woman wanted nowadays, and it gave him great pleasure to give her that, to help bring her into the modern age. The extra income would also allow them to keep some luxuries in their budget. Movies, outings to restaurants, day trips. Maybe even a vacation to Disneyland! That was what Layla wanted and he wanted that, too. There was nothing he wanted more than to give his family the life they used to have.

The closer he drove to his home, the further he felt from yesterday’s event so that by the time he parked in front of his house, the details had faded away in his mind. When he saw Layla’s bruised face, he dismissed her injuries, cordoned them off to the far recesses of his mind. He had nothing to do with that. He refused to make the connection that it was his hands, these hands, that did that to her. If for a moment the idea surfaced, his mind quickly reorganized the events and created a new story. She shouldn’t have pushed him to the edge. She shouldn’t have questioned him. It was her fault.

He never noticed the changes in his family. How Layla now tiptoed around him, how easily she cooperated with his every decision. He never noticed Ashif distancing himself from him, either. He just assumed he was busy with school. Mansoor had been away for over three years, yet Ashif had not lost his way. That was, for him, a testament of the solid foundation he had laid for him when he was younger. Recently, he’d even noticed him toting around books papered with the letters B.S. “What does it stand for?” he asked. “Business School,” Ashif said, and Mansoor beamed with pride.

When Mansoor wakes, the pool of snow and ice under him is softer and deeper. His jacket is undone, his toque and gloves pulled off. He is boiling hot. With great effort, he rolls himself out of the wetness.