Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
DHRITHI
Apprehension filled her as the two sets of parents filed back into the room. Her glance flitted from one tight face to another. No one was smiling. Dhrithi sighed, wondering if she should have asked Amay to slip a sedative into her IV so she could sleep this mess off. That option seemed to be on her mind all the time nowadays.
“The police are asking questions,” Varun’s father, Bharat Gokhale, announced. He glared at Dhrithi like she’d asked his son to drive his car into hers. “Nothing has happened. You know that. We know that. What have you told them?”
“Nothing,” Dhrithi’s father answered on her behalf. “She has told them nothing and she will tell them nothing in the future too.”
“Have you made a complaint against him?”
Again, Dhrithi didn’t get a chance to reply. Her mother spoke up this time. “Of course, she hasn’t. Why would she? There is nothing to complain about.”
“Then why are the cops hounding us?” Varun’s father was like a dog with a bone. “My son is dead!”
“And I’m in the hospital.” Dhrithi’s quiet voice rang through the room, cutting off the rest of his tirade. “I’m doing much better, by the way. Thank you for asking.”
Varun’s father’s face flushed a dull, mottled red. “Don’t say a word,” he said, his voice low, the venom in it a living thing.
“About what, Papa?”
The vein in his temple bulged, pulsing like it was going to burst out of his forehead. “You know what!” he said, his hands clenching into fists.
“No, I don’t, Papa. You just said nothing happened right? All of you did. So what would I ‘not say a word’ about?”
“Careful,” Bharat Gokhale said. One word but it landed with the weight of a hammer.
Her father laughed nervously. “Why are we all being so serious? No one is talking about anything to anyone. Once Dhrithi is well and back home with you all, you can discuss things in more detail as a family and-“
“About that,” Varun’s mother spoke for the first time. “Dhrithi can’t be alone so going back to her house is out of the question. There is no one to care for her. We think it’s best for Dhrithi to recover in your home. After all, when a child is sick, she needs her parents the most. She will want her mother to nurse her back to health.”
Dhrithi’s mother squawked, a strangled sound of protest. The only thing she nursed was her drink every evening.
“And your home?” Dhrithi’s father asked, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
“Pest control treatment,” Varun’s father responded without a hitch in his voice. “The chemicals involved are not recommended for recovering patients.”
“Well, she can’t come to our house!” Dhrithi’s mother screeched.
“Why not?” Bharat Gokhale raised an eyebrow at the hysterical woman. “She is your daughter, after all.”
“And after marriage, she became yours!” Dhrithi’s mother spat back.
Dhrithi’s eyes drifted to the door.
You’re mine. Like I’m yours. Always.
The only person who’d ever said those words to her had walked out that door.
All around her, the older folk continued to squabble like children with a broken toy, one that they were done playing with and no longer wanted ownership of.
“It’s fine,” she croaked, still watching the door. “Nobody needs to take me home with them. I’ll find somewhere to stay.”
“You can’t go to the home Varun and you shared,” her mother-in-law warned her. “The staff have been sent home and it’s locked.”
“You can’t get away with this,” Dhrithi’s father seethed. “I know what you’re trying to do and I won’t let you.”
Varun’s father stood, a thin smile stretching his lips. “Watch me,” he said softly before glancing at Dhrithi one last time. He hesitated, a bare second, as he met her steady gaze. “Take care,” he said, with a small nod. And then they were gone. Her mother-in-law didn’t even bother to look back.
“Have you gone mad?” her father shouted, the sound resounding in the empty room. “They are trying to cut you out.”
“I know.” Dhrithi turned her face towards the wall and shut her eyes. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to give me anything either.”
“And what are you going to live on? Love and fresh air?”
Maybe just fresh air. Dhrithi didn’t hope for love, not anymore. Her gaze went to the shut door again. He wouldn’t be back. Not today. And if she got discharged soon, then she’d never see him again. Ever again.
“Let me worry about that,” she told her parents now.
“And who is going to worry about us?”
Dhrithi looked at her father. “About you? What do you mean?”
Her father was the CEO of a leading textile company and he’d also been a very smart investor for most of their lives. Why exactly was Dhrithi supposed to worry about him?
“Three hundred crores,” he reminded her. “There was a reason why you married him.”
“A reason why you forced me to marry him, you mean.” If they were going to remind each other of the past, they should do it right.
“Three. Hundred. Crores.” Her father leaned over her bedside, his face incandescent with rage.
“I. Don’t. Care.”
“Dhrithi-“
“No.” She cut him off, her voice firm, her own temper rising to meet his. “This freedom didn’t come easily to me, but I have it now. I paid for it with blood, with broken bones, and with shredded flesh. I paid for it with sixteen years of my life. No one is taking it from me. Not you, not the Gokhales. Not even Varun’s ghost. NO ONE.”
None of them noticed the open door or the police officer standing there. Not until it was too late.