I tossed and turned in bed after that, unable to make any sense of things. Finally, I decided to go out for a drive, because driving had become my escape, my therapy, and I had Aunt Mannie to thank for giving me this one superpower. I just had to put the key in the ignition, select a good playlist and hit the road to feel liberated.

It was almost midnight when I left to drive through downtown New York, the one place that never sleeps even when the rest of the world does.

Driving through downtown New York in the daytime, even today, is like navigating a huge maze. The streets are crammed with tall buildings on either side, and the traffic is perpetually loud and crazy. There are thousands of yellow taxis, delivery vans and fire trucks on the roads. Pedestrians are constantly darting across them—some are late for a Broadway show, some are out shopping, looking for first copies of big brands like Louis Vuitton being sold on the streets, some are just jaywalking and some are out drinking and getting wasted. There’s just too much movement, too much action.

And I remember how some of the streets were so dirty that they made me think of Chandni Chowk, especially when I saw big fat rats running in and out of potholes and drain holes. But amidst all this madness, there was a strange sense of belonging, like I wasn’t really alone in that big, lonely city.

I drove around for an hour, or two maybe, before coming back to the apartment. I crept in silently so that Liam wouldn’t get disturbed; he hated being woken up in the middle of the night or early in the morning. He was the kind who needed eight to ten hours of sleep straight, no questions asked. God only knows how he’s dealing with a baby keeping him up at odd hours now!

As I lay down beside him that night, I couldn’t help but notice that his phone was vibrating non-stop and the message alert light was blinking repeatedly. It was like someone was hitting his phone with a deluge of messages. I got up to put the phone away on the coffee table, lest it wake Liam up. The moment I picked it up, a new message notification flashed on the home screen.

It read: ‘Liam, I miss you, baby.’ And the sender’s name was Margaret.

Stunned, I tried to punch in Liam’s passcode and read the rest of the message. But even as I entered the numbers, I was aware that they were wrong. I immediately shook Liam up from his sleep.

‘Who is Margaret?’ I demanded loudly.

‘Huh?’ Liam sat up in bed, looking all confused.

‘I read the message on your phone, Liam. Who is Margaret?’ I shouted.