We didn't go home to Menteng that night.
It wasn't a decision we spent a long time discussing—it was more like something that became obvious on its own when the clock showed nearly four in the morning and Mr. Hendra had just finished everything that needed to be done that night. It was too late to leave, and too much had just happened for us to be able to sleep during the drive.
My father was the one who offered, without many words.
"Ela's room is still just as she left it," he said to me. Then to Damian: "There's a guest room at the end of the hallway. It's clean."
Damian nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Richard."
The way he said the name—not just *Richard* like he had on the phone earlier that night, when the situation had forced a different kind of equality, but *Mr. Richard*—made something
