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tiles.
    “My sister,” she whispered, her throat hoarse, her eyes blank. “My sister lives here,” she finished shakily.
    “Your sister's fine, she's stable. She's in the ER at Sequoia Hospital.” The policewoman led her downstairs, gently, putting a firm hand on Shobha's elbow. “Would you like a patrol car to take you there?”
    Shobha was too stunned to register anything. There was acid in her throat, a rancid taste in her mouth, and she rushed to the kitchen and vomited her breakfast of Noah's bagel and cream cheese into the sink.
    The policewoman gave her a few paper towels from the roll in Devi's kitchen and Shobha turned on the faucet to wet the towels.
    “I'm okay,” Shobha said after she cleaned up and threw the paper towels in the trash. “I'm fine, thanks.”
    “Are you sure?” the policewoman asked. “I can drop you off at the ER. It's close by. And your sister is doing just fine.”
    “I can drive,” Shobha said, taking charge of her emotions again. “I can fucking drive,” she repeated but she was crying. “I can drive,” she said again as tears streamed down her face. She hadn't cried this openly in such a long time and because she hadn't, the intensity of it shook her into doing something she'd never done before. For the first time in her life, Shobha turned to someone for comfort. The policewoman held her for almost ten minutes while Shobha sobbed for her sister who could've died.
    But when she stood in front of her mother and her husband, there was no trace of the Shobha who'd cried in the arms of a stranger. It was vital to her that she not lose control, not show a chink in the armor. Her sister was alive and well, there was no need for melodrama or tears.
    “If everything is A-okay, then I'll head back to work. It's the end of the quarter. We have numbers to meet,” Shobha said casually.
    “What?” Girish all but gasped, shock written on his face. It satisfied Shobha immensely that something she did finally needled him into a response.
    Girish quickly replaced the visible temper and shock with his usual stoic, almost careless, calm. “Go,” he said easily, quietly. “Do you want anyone to call you if something happens?”
    “What could happen?” Shobha shrugged. “It isn't like she's going to find another blade to do any damage. But please, do call if something does happen. And I'll see you all at dinner?”
    Shobha didn't want to be the hard-ass all the time, but with Devi perpetually screwing up, the onus fell on Shobha to lead the exemplarylife. It was Shobha's job to be the better daughter, while Devi was busy playing the role of the prodigal one. No matter what Shobha did, her father always favored Devi.
    Most children believed their parents loved them all equally, but Shobha knew the truth. Avi cared more for Devi than he did her. She was well aware of it and spent many years trying to change that truth before giving up. But just because she wasn't in the race anymore didn't mean she liked to lose.
    Avi never said or did anything to blatantly show he loved Devi more, but Shobha could feel it in his different attitudes toward them. He held Devi's hand all the time, through all her troubles, while assuming Shobha could take care of herself. And Shobha was proud that she could take care of herself, but would it kill her father to show her some attention as well?
    Even now when she was married, living the successful life, her father turned to Devi, gave her support. Shobha once told Girish how she felt but he didn't see things her way.
    “She's not strong like you, Shobha. That doesn't mean he loves her more, just that she needs him more,” Girish reasoned.
    I need him, too,
Shobha wanted to cry out.
I want my daddy, too. Just because I'm strong doesn't mean I don't need a father.
    But sometimes when you wore a mask for a very long time, it became your face. And Shobha had worn the mask of a strong woman for so long, no one, including her, bothered to look beneath it to see