He prepares to end the call, but Tahera takes the phone and disappears into the kitchen.

You strain to hear Tahera’s conversation, but her voice is too low. Now that you can breathe freely again, the extent of your transgression begins to sink in. You wouldn’t have dared speak this way in Chennai. Being away from him seems to have loosened his hold on you. You’re glad that you undertook this journey. But why did you wait until the final months of your life before taking this step?

Seema’s eyes are still glued to the TV, avoiding you, though she too seems to have relaxed. “Seema, when shall we ask Fiaz for dinner?” you say. “Can we do it this week?”

Your sudden switch of topic catching her by surprise, Seema is less resistant, as you hoped. She says, with only a slight frown, “It’s not necessary.”

“He’s so good to us. I promised him.”

“He’ll understand, Ammi. I’m having a baby after all.”

“It’s not a question of understanding. I want to. You should call your other friend too. What’s her name, Divya?”

“Why? You’re sick, you can’t stand in the kitchen without coughing. I can’t help you cook. Are you going to ask Tahera to cook for my friends?”

“What’s wrong with that? Can’t your sister do this for you?” You’ve tasted your first victory, against your husband no less, and you won’t let your daughter(s) defeat you. Tahera has finished her conversation, and you call out, “What do you say, Tahera? You’ll help me with the dinner for Fiaz?”

“I’ll be there in a minute, Ammi.”

Seema grows restive. When Tahera returns you notice her fraught face—what could father and this daughter have clashed over now? You regret your peremptory tone.

One glance at Tahera and Seema struggles up from the futon. “What did I tell you? There’s no need for all this.”

A subdued Tahera registers the scene unfolding. She eventually answers, “Of course, Ammi. If that’s what you want.”

“What about what I want?” Seema glares at the two of you, then before you can react, turns to retreat to her bedroom. “Fine. Let’s not make a big deal of this. I’ll ask Fiaz when he’s available.”

“Ask Divya too,” you say.

“No Divya.” She yanks the bedroom door shut behind her.

Tahera sits by your side. “Why do you force her, Ammi, when she doesn’t want to?”

But it’s to be a celebration: You want to cook for your daughter’s friends, to throw them a feast. It’s to be a thanksgiving, for all the years they were there for your daughter, and atonement, for the years you were not. You recall the chilha, the celebration on the fortieth day after the child is born. But you can’t leave it for so far into the future—who knows anymore what the future holds? And besides, you need Tahera’s help.