20-06-2025, 09:42 PM
Darkness had settled over Pune by the time Devika's tears finally subsided, leaving her hollow-eyed and empty on the sofa where Vishnu and Pathan had left her hours before. The teacups still sat on the coffee table, cold and untouched, silent witnesses to her collapse. She stared at her hands—steady now, though they'd trembled violently as she'd scrolled through those damning photos. Two women. Not one betrayal but many, layered and deliberate, while he'd had the audacity to question her character, her choices, her very self-worth.
"Hypocrite," she whispered to the empty room, the word hanging in the still air like a judgment. "Liar."
She rose mechanically, gathering the teacups and carrying them to the kitchen where she washed each one with methodical precision, as if the simple act might restore order to a world suddenly spinning off its axis. The cool water rushing over her fingers grounded her, pulling her back from the edge of an emotional abyss.
In the bathroom mirror, a stranger stared back at her—eyes swollen, cheeks blotched with red, hair disheveled from where she'd clutched it in despair. This broken woman wasn't her. This victim wasn't Devika Nair, PhD, respected professor of biology. This was someone else, someone she refused to become.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen illuminating with an incoming video call. Anand's name and face flashed on the display, his smile—once so dear to her—now a grotesque mask that concealed the man she'd never truly known.
Her finger hovered over the decline button, but something stopped her—a flicker of anger that felt like the first spark of life after hours of emotional death. She deserved answers. She deserved to see his face when he realized he'd been caught.
She accepted the call.
"Devika! Thank goodness you answered." Anand's face filled the screen, handsome features arranged in an expression of contrite worry. "I've been trying to reach you all day."
She said nothing, just stared at him, memorizing the face of this stranger who wore her husband's skin.
"Devi? Are you there? Can you hear me?"
"I hear you," she replied, her voice surprisingly calm despite the storm building inside her.
"Listen, I'm sorry about our last conversation." His voice softened, taking on the tender tone he'd used during their courtship. "I was stressed about work and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair."
Devika settled onto the edge of her bed, propping the phone against a pillow so she could see him fully. "Is that so?"
"Yes," he continued, apparently encouraged by her response. "And I have to say, you look more beautiful than ever today. There's something different about you."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Yes, I suppose there is."
"I miss you," he said, leaning closer to the camera. "So much, Devi. This distance is harder than I expected."
"I'm sure it is," she replied, each word weighted with ice.
Anand's smile faltered slightly, but he pressed on. "I actually have some news. The company has extended my contract for another six months. The money is excellent, and it means our future will be that much more secure."
"Our future," Devika echoed, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.
"Yes, our future. I know it's a long time to be apart, but think of what we're building together." His expression turned earnest. "I miss you every day, Devi. Every night I go to sleep wishing you were beside me."
She stared at him, searching for any sign of guilt, any crack in his performance. Finding none, she reached for her tablet on the nightstand.
"Anand, do you know what I was doing before you called?"
He shook his head, confusion flickering across his features at her flat tone.
"I was looking at these." She held up the tablet, displaying the first photo—Anand with the suited woman on the park bench, her hand on his thigh.
The color drained from his face. "What—how did you—"
"And these." She swiped to the next image—the kiss, his hand on the woman's breast. Then the next—entering the apartment building. And finally, the most damning—Anand with the younger woman on his lap in the restaurant.
"Who sent you these?" he demanded, his voice rising with panic. "Have you been having me followed?"
"Is that really your first question?" Devika's voice trembled not with sorrow now but with rage. "Not an explanation for why you're kissing another woman in public? Or why there's a different woman sitting on your lap while you grope her under the table?"
"This isn't what it looks like," he stammered, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape.
"Really? Because it looks like my husband is having affairs with two different women while calling me a slut for how I dbang my saree."
"Those are my friends," Anand insisted, desperation edging into his voice. "Colleagues. The photos are misleading—"
"Which friends?" Devika cut in, her voice razor-sharp. "The one you were kissing with your hand on her breast? Or the one feeding you while sitting on your lap? Tell me, Anand, which of these 'friends' are you sleeping with? Both? Or are there more I don't know about?"
"You don't understand the context—"
"Then explain it to me!" she shouted, tears threatening again but held back by the force of her anger. "Explain to me what context makes this acceptable! What context makes your behavior anything but a betrayal of everything we promised each other!"
Anand's expression hardened, defense giving way to counterattack. "You're the one to talk about betrayal. I know about your little tea parties with the security guard. How you invite him into our home when I'm not there."
"He's like a father to me," Devika shot back, incredulous. "He's sixty-five years old!"
"And they're like sisters to me," Anand retorted, gesturing wildly at the screen where the photos were still displayed.
"Sisters?" Devika's laugh was brittle as glass. "Do you kiss your sisters like that? Do you let your sisters sit on your lap while you put your hands between their legs?"
"Don't talk about my friends that way!"
"They're not friends, Anand. They're the women you're sleeping with while your wife sits alone in another country!"
They stared at each other through the screen, the connection crackling with the static of a relationship disintegrating in real-time.
"I'm not going to argue about this," Devika said finally, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "I'm not going to justify myself to you. I've seen enough."
"What are you saying?" Anand asked, wariness replacing anger.
"I'm saying be happy in Dubai with your... friends. I don't want to speak to you anymore."
"Fine," he spat, his face contorting with rage. "I don't need a slut like you anyway. Go enjoy your time with that old man. I'm sure he appreciates the attention."
The screen went dark as Anand ended the call, leaving Devika staring at her own reflection in the blackened display. She sat motionless for several heartbeats, absorbing the finality of what had just occurred. Then, with deliberate movements, she opened her contacts, found Anand's entry, and pressed delete. She did the same with their chat history, their shared photos, every digital trace of him she could find on her phone.
Each deletion felt like cutting a string that had bound her, leaving her lighter with each severed connection. By the time she finished, she was breathing more easily than she had in months. The pain was still there—a throbbing wound where her marriage had been—but beneath it lay something unexpected: relief.
---
Morning light streamed through the staff room windows, painting golden stripes across the worn wooden desks where Devika sat reviewing her lecture notes. She'd dressed with particular care that day, choosing a rich crimson saree with a gold border, dbangd in the lower style that Anand had so vehemently objected to. Her makeup was subtle but deliberate, concealing the evidence of a night spent alternating between anger and grief.
"You're here early," Sharada observed, setting her bag down at the adjacent desk. She studied Devika's face with the keen attention of someone who had seen her at her lowest. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been run over by a truck," Devika replied honestly. "But somehow still standing."
Sharada pulled her chair closer, lowering her voice though they were alone in the room. "Did you confront him?"
"Yes." Devika's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her notes. "He called last night, acting as if nothing had happened. Told me his contract had been extended for another six months."
"And?"
"I showed him the photos. The ones Vishnu's cousin took." Devika's mouth tightened at the memory. "He tried to claim they were just friends."
Sharada snorted in disbelief. "Friends? That's the best he could come up with?"
"Then he tried to turn it around on me. Brought up the security guard at my building—Ramlal—as if having tea with an elderly man was equivalent to what he's been doing."
"Of course he did," Sharada said, disgust evident in her tone. "Men always deflect when they're caught. So what happens now?"
Devika's hand unconsciously rose to her mangalsutra, the gold chain that symbolized her married status. "I told him I didn't want to speak to him anymore. I deleted his number, his messages, everything."
"And the marriage?"
"I don't know yet," Devika admitted. "Legally ending it would mean returning to Kerala, facing my family, explaining everything. I'm not ready for that battle."
Sharada's eyes focused on the gold chain at Devika's neck. "Are you going to keep wearing that?"
Devika's fingers closed around the pendant. "For now. Not for him—for me. I don't want to be seen as a woman alone in this city. It offers some protection, at least in perception."
"That's practical, I suppose." Sharada hesitated, then asked, "How did you get those photos, anyway? You mentioned Vishnu's cousin?"
"Yes," Devika nodded. "Vishnu has a cousin in Dubai. I asked him if he could help me confirm my suspicions about Anand. He arranged for his cousin to follow him."
Sharada's eyebrows rose. "You involved your student in your personal life? That's... unorthodox."
"I had no choice," Devika defended, though a flicker of unease passed through her at Sharada's tone. "You were the one who suggested it, remember? You said Vishnu had connections in Dubai."
"I suppose I did," Sharada conceded. "And it worked—you got your proof. How are they handling it? Vishnu and Pathan?"
"They were surprisingly... supportive when they showed me the photos. Not at all what I expected from them." Devika shook her head slightly. "They were gentle, even respectful."
"Interesting," Sharada murmured, her expression thoughtful. "Just be careful, Devika. You're in a vulnerable position now, and those boys have a reputation."
"I know my boundaries," Devika assured her, though the memory of Pathan's arms around her as she sobbed against his shoulder made her face warm with embarrassment. "I won't forget they're my students."
"Good." Sharada squeezed her arm. "And remember—whatever happens, you don't need that cheating bastard. You're more than capable of building a life without him."
Devika smiled, the first genuine smile in days. "I already have. I'm going to focus on my work, my students, building a community here. I refuse to let Anand's betrayal define me."
"That's my girl," Sharada said approvingly. "Now, shall we go destroy some young minds with knowledge?"
---
The lecture hall hummed with the usual pre-class chatter as Devika entered, her notes clutched against her chest. The familiar setting—the worn podium, the tiered rows of seats, the eager and not-so-eager faces of her students—provided a comforting constancy when everything else in her life had shifted.
She delivered her lecture on genetic engineering with unexpected energy, her voice clear and confident as she guided her students through complex concepts, her gestures animated as she illustrated key points. Teaching had always been her sanctuary, the place where her uncertainties fell away, and today that sanctuary felt more precious than ever.
If the students noticed anything different about their professor—the slight redness around her eyes, the occasionally distant look that crossed her face when she paused—none commented. By the time the lecture ended, Devika felt almost normal, grounded by the familiar rhythm of academic discourse.
The practical lab session that afternoon brought her face to face with Vishnu and Pathan for the first time since their visit to her apartment. They entered the laboratory with uncharacteristic restraint, their usual swagger tempered by something that looked almost like concern.
"Good afternoon, Professor," Vishnu greeted, his voice lacking its usual suggestive undertone. "How are you today?"
The question carried more weight than its simple words suggested. Devika adjusted a microscope before responding, buying herself a moment to compose her thoughts.
"I'm... okay," she answered finally, meeting his gaze directly. "Better than I expected to be, actually."
"Did you speak with your husband?" Pathan asked, setting up his workstation with unusual care.
Devika nodded, glancing around to ensure the other students were out of earshot. "Yes. Last night. I showed him the photos."
"And?" Vishnu leaned closer, genuine curiosity in his expression.
"He tried to claim they were just friends," Devika replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "Can you believe that? Friends."
"What an idiot," Pathan muttered, shaking his head. "What man in his right mind would risk losing a wife like you?"
The compliment should have made Devika uncomfortable, but in her raw emotional state, it felt like a balm on an open wound. "Thank you," she said simply. "And thank you both for what you did. For helping me see the truth about who he really is."
"You deserved to know," Vishnu said, his eyes never leaving her face. "No one should be deceived like that."
"Well, thanks to you, I'm not being deceived anymore." Devika straightened, reclaiming her professional demeanor. "I told him I don't want to speak to him again. I've deleted his number. As far as I'm concerned, that bastard can stay in Dubai forever."
A flash of satisfaction crossed both men's faces at her words, quickly masked by expressions of sympathy.
"You're better off without him," Vishnu said, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "A woman like you deserves a man who appreciates what he has."
"Right now, I don't need any man," Devika replied firmly, though she softened the statement with a small smile. "I need to focus on my work, on building my life here. The rest can wait."
"Of course," Pathan agreed, his tone respectful though his eyes still held that calculating gleam she had come to recognize. "But if you need anything—anything at all—we're here for you, Professor."
"That's very kind," Devika said, already moving toward the front of the lab. "But right now what I need is for everyone to focus on today's practical. We're examining plant cellular adaptation to environmental stressors—something I find particularly relevant at the moment."
As she guided the class through the experiment, Devika caught Vishnu and Pathan exchanging meaningful glances when they thought she wasn't looking. In her grief and anger over Anand's betrayal, she had allowed these two students closer than propriety should permit. She had shown them her vulnerability, her pain, her rage.
Yet despite the warning bells that should have been ringing in her mind, Devika found herself feeling an unexpected gratitude toward them. Without their help, she might have continued in ignorant misery, believing herself at fault for her husband's coldness, his accusations, his distance.
They had given her truth, painful as it was. And truth, Devika reflected as she adjusted a student's microscope focus, was always preferable to comforting lies—even when it left you standing alone with nothing but the shattered remains of what you once believed to be real.
"Hypocrite," she whispered to the empty room, the word hanging in the still air like a judgment. "Liar."
She rose mechanically, gathering the teacups and carrying them to the kitchen where she washed each one with methodical precision, as if the simple act might restore order to a world suddenly spinning off its axis. The cool water rushing over her fingers grounded her, pulling her back from the edge of an emotional abyss.
In the bathroom mirror, a stranger stared back at her—eyes swollen, cheeks blotched with red, hair disheveled from where she'd clutched it in despair. This broken woman wasn't her. This victim wasn't Devika Nair, PhD, respected professor of biology. This was someone else, someone she refused to become.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen illuminating with an incoming video call. Anand's name and face flashed on the display, his smile—once so dear to her—now a grotesque mask that concealed the man she'd never truly known.
Her finger hovered over the decline button, but something stopped her—a flicker of anger that felt like the first spark of life after hours of emotional death. She deserved answers. She deserved to see his face when he realized he'd been caught.
She accepted the call.
"Devika! Thank goodness you answered." Anand's face filled the screen, handsome features arranged in an expression of contrite worry. "I've been trying to reach you all day."
She said nothing, just stared at him, memorizing the face of this stranger who wore her husband's skin.
"Devi? Are you there? Can you hear me?"
"I hear you," she replied, her voice surprisingly calm despite the storm building inside her.
"Listen, I'm sorry about our last conversation." His voice softened, taking on the tender tone he'd used during their courtship. "I was stressed about work and I took it out on you. That wasn't fair."
Devika settled onto the edge of her bed, propping the phone against a pillow so she could see him fully. "Is that so?"
"Yes," he continued, apparently encouraged by her response. "And I have to say, you look more beautiful than ever today. There's something different about you."
A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "Yes, I suppose there is."
"I miss you," he said, leaning closer to the camera. "So much, Devi. This distance is harder than I expected."
"I'm sure it is," she replied, each word weighted with ice.
Anand's smile faltered slightly, but he pressed on. "I actually have some news. The company has extended my contract for another six months. The money is excellent, and it means our future will be that much more secure."
"Our future," Devika echoed, the words tasting like ash on her tongue.
"Yes, our future. I know it's a long time to be apart, but think of what we're building together." His expression turned earnest. "I miss you every day, Devi. Every night I go to sleep wishing you were beside me."
She stared at him, searching for any sign of guilt, any crack in his performance. Finding none, she reached for her tablet on the nightstand.
"Anand, do you know what I was doing before you called?"
He shook his head, confusion flickering across his features at her flat tone.
"I was looking at these." She held up the tablet, displaying the first photo—Anand with the suited woman on the park bench, her hand on his thigh.
The color drained from his face. "What—how did you—"
"And these." She swiped to the next image—the kiss, his hand on the woman's breast. Then the next—entering the apartment building. And finally, the most damning—Anand with the younger woman on his lap in the restaurant.
"Who sent you these?" he demanded, his voice rising with panic. "Have you been having me followed?"
"Is that really your first question?" Devika's voice trembled not with sorrow now but with rage. "Not an explanation for why you're kissing another woman in public? Or why there's a different woman sitting on your lap while you grope her under the table?"
"This isn't what it looks like," he stammered, eyes darting around as if searching for an escape.
"Really? Because it looks like my husband is having affairs with two different women while calling me a slut for how I dbang my saree."
"Those are my friends," Anand insisted, desperation edging into his voice. "Colleagues. The photos are misleading—"
"Which friends?" Devika cut in, her voice razor-sharp. "The one you were kissing with your hand on her breast? Or the one feeding you while sitting on your lap? Tell me, Anand, which of these 'friends' are you sleeping with? Both? Or are there more I don't know about?"
"You don't understand the context—"
"Then explain it to me!" she shouted, tears threatening again but held back by the force of her anger. "Explain to me what context makes this acceptable! What context makes your behavior anything but a betrayal of everything we promised each other!"
Anand's expression hardened, defense giving way to counterattack. "You're the one to talk about betrayal. I know about your little tea parties with the security guard. How you invite him into our home when I'm not there."
"He's like a father to me," Devika shot back, incredulous. "He's sixty-five years old!"
"And they're like sisters to me," Anand retorted, gesturing wildly at the screen where the photos were still displayed.
"Sisters?" Devika's laugh was brittle as glass. "Do you kiss your sisters like that? Do you let your sisters sit on your lap while you put your hands between their legs?"
"Don't talk about my friends that way!"
"They're not friends, Anand. They're the women you're sleeping with while your wife sits alone in another country!"
They stared at each other through the screen, the connection crackling with the static of a relationship disintegrating in real-time.
"I'm not going to argue about this," Devika said finally, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. "I'm not going to justify myself to you. I've seen enough."
"What are you saying?" Anand asked, wariness replacing anger.
"I'm saying be happy in Dubai with your... friends. I don't want to speak to you anymore."
"Fine," he spat, his face contorting with rage. "I don't need a slut like you anyway. Go enjoy your time with that old man. I'm sure he appreciates the attention."
The screen went dark as Anand ended the call, leaving Devika staring at her own reflection in the blackened display. She sat motionless for several heartbeats, absorbing the finality of what had just occurred. Then, with deliberate movements, she opened her contacts, found Anand's entry, and pressed delete. She did the same with their chat history, their shared photos, every digital trace of him she could find on her phone.
Each deletion felt like cutting a string that had bound her, leaving her lighter with each severed connection. By the time she finished, she was breathing more easily than she had in months. The pain was still there—a throbbing wound where her marriage had been—but beneath it lay something unexpected: relief.
---
Morning light streamed through the staff room windows, painting golden stripes across the worn wooden desks where Devika sat reviewing her lecture notes. She'd dressed with particular care that day, choosing a rich crimson saree with a gold border, dbangd in the lower style that Anand had so vehemently objected to. Her makeup was subtle but deliberate, concealing the evidence of a night spent alternating between anger and grief.
"You're here early," Sharada observed, setting her bag down at the adjacent desk. She studied Devika's face with the keen attention of someone who had seen her at her lowest. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been run over by a truck," Devika replied honestly. "But somehow still standing."
Sharada pulled her chair closer, lowering her voice though they were alone in the room. "Did you confront him?"
"Yes." Devika's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her notes. "He called last night, acting as if nothing had happened. Told me his contract had been extended for another six months."
"And?"
"I showed him the photos. The ones Vishnu's cousin took." Devika's mouth tightened at the memory. "He tried to claim they were just friends."
Sharada snorted in disbelief. "Friends? That's the best he could come up with?"
"Then he tried to turn it around on me. Brought up the security guard at my building—Ramlal—as if having tea with an elderly man was equivalent to what he's been doing."
"Of course he did," Sharada said, disgust evident in her tone. "Men always deflect when they're caught. So what happens now?"
Devika's hand unconsciously rose to her mangalsutra, the gold chain that symbolized her married status. "I told him I didn't want to speak to him anymore. I deleted his number, his messages, everything."
"And the marriage?"
"I don't know yet," Devika admitted. "Legally ending it would mean returning to Kerala, facing my family, explaining everything. I'm not ready for that battle."
Sharada's eyes focused on the gold chain at Devika's neck. "Are you going to keep wearing that?"
Devika's fingers closed around the pendant. "For now. Not for him—for me. I don't want to be seen as a woman alone in this city. It offers some protection, at least in perception."
"That's practical, I suppose." Sharada hesitated, then asked, "How did you get those photos, anyway? You mentioned Vishnu's cousin?"
"Yes," Devika nodded. "Vishnu has a cousin in Dubai. I asked him if he could help me confirm my suspicions about Anand. He arranged for his cousin to follow him."
Sharada's eyebrows rose. "You involved your student in your personal life? That's... unorthodox."
"I had no choice," Devika defended, though a flicker of unease passed through her at Sharada's tone. "You were the one who suggested it, remember? You said Vishnu had connections in Dubai."
"I suppose I did," Sharada conceded. "And it worked—you got your proof. How are they handling it? Vishnu and Pathan?"
"They were surprisingly... supportive when they showed me the photos. Not at all what I expected from them." Devika shook her head slightly. "They were gentle, even respectful."
"Interesting," Sharada murmured, her expression thoughtful. "Just be careful, Devika. You're in a vulnerable position now, and those boys have a reputation."
"I know my boundaries," Devika assured her, though the memory of Pathan's arms around her as she sobbed against his shoulder made her face warm with embarrassment. "I won't forget they're my students."
"Good." Sharada squeezed her arm. "And remember—whatever happens, you don't need that cheating bastard. You're more than capable of building a life without him."
Devika smiled, the first genuine smile in days. "I already have. I'm going to focus on my work, my students, building a community here. I refuse to let Anand's betrayal define me."
"That's my girl," Sharada said approvingly. "Now, shall we go destroy some young minds with knowledge?"
---
The lecture hall hummed with the usual pre-class chatter as Devika entered, her notes clutched against her chest. The familiar setting—the worn podium, the tiered rows of seats, the eager and not-so-eager faces of her students—provided a comforting constancy when everything else in her life had shifted.
She delivered her lecture on genetic engineering with unexpected energy, her voice clear and confident as she guided her students through complex concepts, her gestures animated as she illustrated key points. Teaching had always been her sanctuary, the place where her uncertainties fell away, and today that sanctuary felt more precious than ever.
If the students noticed anything different about their professor—the slight redness around her eyes, the occasionally distant look that crossed her face when she paused—none commented. By the time the lecture ended, Devika felt almost normal, grounded by the familiar rhythm of academic discourse.
The practical lab session that afternoon brought her face to face with Vishnu and Pathan for the first time since their visit to her apartment. They entered the laboratory with uncharacteristic restraint, their usual swagger tempered by something that looked almost like concern.
"Good afternoon, Professor," Vishnu greeted, his voice lacking its usual suggestive undertone. "How are you today?"
The question carried more weight than its simple words suggested. Devika adjusted a microscope before responding, buying herself a moment to compose her thoughts.
"I'm... okay," she answered finally, meeting his gaze directly. "Better than I expected to be, actually."
"Did you speak with your husband?" Pathan asked, setting up his workstation with unusual care.
Devika nodded, glancing around to ensure the other students were out of earshot. "Yes. Last night. I showed him the photos."
"And?" Vishnu leaned closer, genuine curiosity in his expression.
"He tried to claim they were just friends," Devika replied, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. "Can you believe that? Friends."
"What an idiot," Pathan muttered, shaking his head. "What man in his right mind would risk losing a wife like you?"
The compliment should have made Devika uncomfortable, but in her raw emotional state, it felt like a balm on an open wound. "Thank you," she said simply. "And thank you both for what you did. For helping me see the truth about who he really is."
"You deserved to know," Vishnu said, his eyes never leaving her face. "No one should be deceived like that."
"Well, thanks to you, I'm not being deceived anymore." Devika straightened, reclaiming her professional demeanor. "I told him I don't want to speak to him again. I've deleted his number. As far as I'm concerned, that bastard can stay in Dubai forever."
A flash of satisfaction crossed both men's faces at her words, quickly masked by expressions of sympathy.
"You're better off without him," Vishnu said, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur. "A woman like you deserves a man who appreciates what he has."
"Right now, I don't need any man," Devika replied firmly, though she softened the statement with a small smile. "I need to focus on my work, on building my life here. The rest can wait."
"Of course," Pathan agreed, his tone respectful though his eyes still held that calculating gleam she had come to recognize. "But if you need anything—anything at all—we're here for you, Professor."
"That's very kind," Devika said, already moving toward the front of the lab. "But right now what I need is for everyone to focus on today's practical. We're examining plant cellular adaptation to environmental stressors—something I find particularly relevant at the moment."
As she guided the class through the experiment, Devika caught Vishnu and Pathan exchanging meaningful glances when they thought she wasn't looking. In her grief and anger over Anand's betrayal, she had allowed these two students closer than propriety should permit. She had shown them her vulnerability, her pain, her rage.
Yet despite the warning bells that should have been ringing in her mind, Devika found herself feeling an unexpected gratitude toward them. Without their help, she might have continued in ignorant misery, believing herself at fault for her husband's coldness, his accusations, his distance.
They had given her truth, painful as it was. And truth, Devika reflected as she adjusted a student's microscope focus, was always preferable to comforting lies—even when it left you standing alone with nothing but the shattered remains of what you once believed to be real.
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