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 …
The elders welcomed me as if Moses himself had descended from the mountain as in the holy books, except, instead of tablets of stone, I carried a battered laptop tucked under my arm.
