Bina’s voice cracks. “You’ve always been able to get through to her better than I could.”

“That’s not true. We just have a different relationship,” Deepak says.

And even with their bond and his job, he still didn’t realize how much she was struggling. He pictures Natasha, then Suhani and Anuj. Whenever he thinks of the kids, he sees them as all their ages at the same time. They’re babies with determined fists. They’re in middle school clutching brown paper bags. They’re signing checks and scrolling through their phones.

“It is true. I used to get so frustrated when she and I would argue all day. Then you’d come home after being gone for twelve hours and she’d run into your arms. I would think, ‘Wow, in some ways, the parent who isn’t here gets to be the favorite! Isn’t that nice?’” Bina sits up, her cheeks flushed. “I was so jealous.”

“Jealous? Of me?” Deepak asks.

“Oh yeah! Did you know I realized during one of the Chats Over Chai meetings that I’ve been jealous of you a lot? You’ve always been able to do these exciting and meaningful things for people every day. You could be unavailable and uninterrupted. Even when we went to your doctor parties, people would tell me how all the patients and staff love you. I was so proud and wanted our kids to have the same—big lives with big impact for other people. I just didn’t realize that it would take a toll on me at some point. But at some point, I started asking myself, ‘What’s so wrong with you that you couldn’t manage to do anything?’ and that voice wouldn’t stop.”

“Nothing’s ever been wrong with you,” Deepak says. “And all of us—the kids and I—are who we are because of what you’ve done for us. And now, with your group, you’re doing something bigger than us.”

“I don’t know.” Bina hugs her knees and rocks back and forth. Deepak pictures her in this exact type of pose as a little girl, curled up in bed with a novel. “For so long, I had to try to add things to my life so it felt like I had something that was my own. Do you remember that one time, when I lost it after you asked me to take an acting class when the kids were at school? You were trying to be helpful but it made me even more angry that I always had to be the one to squeeze my passions into small bursts of time, while you had long stretches to think and help and expand. I never had the luxury to just take hours for myself because I had to cut sandwiches or pour detergent into the laundry machine or wrap birthday gifts or hold someone’s hand at the pediatrician’s office.”