Monsoon Hearts

Chapter 8: Unexpected Grace

What followed was the strangest morning of Meera’s life. Marcus, faced with the undeniable reality of her betrayal, chose an unexpected path: he asked to stay for tea.

They sat on the veranda, three adults navigating the most complex emotional territory any of them had ever encountered. Marcus asked about Nani, about the cottage, about how Meera was processing her grief. He was kind to Arjun, genuinely interested in his art, asking thoughtful questions about technique and inspiration.

“You’re being very civilized about this,” Meera said finally, unable to bear the politeness any longer.

“What would you prefer?” Marcus asked mildly. “That I challenge him to a duel? Drag you back to London by your hair?”

“I’d prefer that you be angry. That you hate me for this.”

“Oh, I am angry,” he said, and for the first time she could hear it beneath his careful composure. “I’m furious that you couldn’t talk to me, that you let our marriage rot from the inside while pretending everything was fine. I’m hurt that you had to come halfway around the world to figure out you didn’t want the life we built together.”

He stood up, pacing to the edge of the veranda where he could look out at the mountains. “But I’m not angry that you found someone who makes you happy. I can see it, Meera. The way you look at him, the way you move in this space—you’re alive here in a way you never were with me.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, the words pathetically inadequate.

“I know you are. And I’m sorry too, for not seeing sooner that we were both just going through the motions.”

Arjun had been quiet through this exchange, but now he spoke up. “You could stay longer, if you want. See more of the area. Your wife could show you around.”

Marcus looked surprised by the offer. “That’s generous, given the circumstances.”

“Maybe that’s what this situation needs,” Arjun said. “Generosity instead of possession.”

And so Marcus stayed another day, then two. He slept in Nani’s room while Meera continued sharing the guest room with Arjun. It should have been awkward beyond bearing, but somehow it wasn’t. Instead, it felt like a strange kind of healing.

Marcus helped Meera go through more of Nani’s belongings, listening to stories about her childhood, understanding for the first time where she’d come from. He and Arjun talked about art, about travel, about the curious paths that had brought them all together in this cottage where rain drummed constantly on the roof.

On his last evening, Marcus found Meera in the garden, trying to bring some order to Nani’s beloved but overgrown flower beds.

“I have something for you,” he said, pulling an envelope from his jacket pocket. “Divorce papers. I had my solicitor draw them up before I left London.”

Meera sat back on her heels, soil-stained hands trembling as she took the envelope. “You were that sure?”

“I was that sure you deserved better than what we had,” he said. “Even if that better wasn’t with me.”

She opened the envelope with muddy fingers, scanning the legal language that would formally end five years of marriage. It was surprisingly simple—just signatures and dates to dissolve a life they’d built together.

“What will you tell people?” she asked.

“That we grew apart. That we wanted different things. It’s not exactly false.”

“And you’ll be okay?”

Marcus smiled, and it was the first entirely genuine expression she’d seen from him since he’d arrived. “I think I will be. It’s been years since I had to figure out what I wanted instead of what we wanted. I’m curious to see who I am when I’m not half of a couple that was never quite right.”

They signed the papers there in the garden, with rain starting to fall again and the scent of jasmine heavy in the air. When it was done, Marcus kissed her forehead gently.

“Be happy, Meera. Be the person you came here to find.”