Ma pivoted, moved to the lacy curtains, the window overlooking the street. She crossed her arms. “His father disappeared.”

Miss Trudy sighed. She took a few tentative steps toward his mother, rested her hand on her shoulder. “Vijay is almost eleven, Deepa, practically a man. He wants to know who his father is, where he comes from. What if he’s been out there looking for the two of you all these years?”

It was Vijay’s fault for pestering Miss Trudy for information, for begging her to find out what she could. Miss Trudy was the only person his mother ever let into their lives. She was the only one who could get through to Ma, make her see that pretending the past didn’t exist was lonely. It hurt.

He walked over to them.

They locked eyes on him at the same time, stiffened at his sudden presence. Miss Trudy lowered herself to the edge of the couch, laced her fingers over her lap. Mummy-ji returned her blank gaze to the curtains, pushed her hair behind her ear.

“Ma, please. This is my fault. I wanted to know who my father was. I wanted to know how I could find him.”

Deepa shifted her weight, dragged her fingernails along her knit sleeve. “You’re just a child, Vijay. You don’t understand.”

“How is keeping information from Vijay about his father helping things, Deepa?” Miss Trudy leaned forward, pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. “It’s only natural for the boy to want to know where he comes from. Please, don’t deprive him of that.”

Mummy-ji furrowed her eyebrows. “You don’t have a child, Trudy. You don’t know what we’ve been through, what it’s like to raise a child alone, with no family, no help or support.”

“I’m your family, Deepa. You and your son have me. You’ve had me for the past four years.” Miss Trudy stood, walked to Vijay, laid her hand on his shoulder. She smelled of cinnamon and butter. Flecks of flour dotted her apron. “I know what it’s like to lose parents too,” she continued. “You’re not the only person who grieves for family.”

Vijay hadn’t known this, that Miss Trudy had lost loved ones. He never thought to ask about her family, whether she had siblings, parents. She made him the center of her world, so much so that he never once considered her life before him. He’d been selfish, wholly consumed by her love for him.

It ached to see Miss Trudy, his second mother, upset like this. Ma made sure he completed his homework on time, praised him for his high marks at school, ensured his school uniform was pressed, his tie affixed neatly to his collar. She assigned him extra math problems every night, extra books to read, made his bed every morning, tucked the corners of the sheet tightly.