1. It’s midnight. I’m sitting on the veranda drinking cardamom coffee, trying hard not to call Chris. “Don’t call him and accuse him,” my therapist says. “That will only make things worse.” She suggests filling my mouth with water and keeping it there. “Bite your tongue if you feel you might say something that will …

It had been three months since the last time I heard Om Sagda’s screams. I marked those empty days on the calendar.