Page 8 of The Defiant Wife

I'll survive. Probably. Maybe. Depending on how annoying he turns out to be.

Manisha checks her watch. "He's waiting."

"Good."

She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose. "Diya."

"What?"

"Don't start a fight."

I gasp, "I never start fights."

She stares at me expressionless and then shakes her head, "You are impossible."

I smile sweetly. "Thank you."

Manisha pinches the bridge of her nose. Again.

I laugh. The sound comes easier around her. Easier around the children. Easier in this building. Because this place feels like mine in a way nothing else ever has.

I glance around my office.

The colorful artwork taped to the walls. The shelves overflowing with books. The small potted plant Rani insisted I needed despite the fact that I regularly forget to water it. This place wasn't built from money. It was built from love. The kind people choose every day. The kind that shows up. The kind that stays.

My gaze drops to my phone and very immaturely I decide to unlock the screen and open social media. And I begin scrolling. Five minutes pass. Then another. Then another.

Manisha stares at me from the doorway. "You're making him wait."

I don't look up. "Correct."

"Why?"

I smile. "Because he's probably used to everyone running the second he enters a room."

"Diya."

"I want to establish dominance."

She laughs so hard she has to grab the doorframe. I finally stand. Sliding my phone into my pocket. Picking up my cardigan from the back of the chair. The fabric settles across my shoulders as I push my arms through the sleeves. My reflection catches in the glass cabinet beside the door.

Dark hair. Determined eyes. Vitiligo tracing pale patterns across my skin. Patterns I spent years learning to love. Patterns my children taught me to see differently. Beautiful. Unique. Mine.

I square my shoulders.

Manisha watches me carefully. "Behave."

"No promises."

"Diya."

"I'm kidding."

She doesn't look convinced.

Fair.

I probably wouldn't trust me either.