Over the next couple of weeks, Piyumi was able to piece together a timeline of the events that'd occurred after she'd passed out. Damien had apparently fled the scene soon after the stabbing, and Mylene had done so after telling her friends to call an ambulance to avoid the cops Waliyha had contacted. Hunter and Waliyha had told the police that there were only two assailants involved and that Piyumi had been with them the entire night. Piyumi had maintained that story when the police came to the hospital to question her about the incident as well. One officer even went as far as to call her a ‘hero’ for defending her friends. 

Piyumi wasn’t so sure about that, but if it meant that she would get off scot free, they could call her whatever they wanted.

She refused to lie to her friends, though. She had finally told them everything. How she had ended up working with Mylene, the crimes she had committed over the last year, her strained relationship with her father. It all came out in a big, jumbled mess she hoped was at least halfway coherent. There was one thing she did keep quiet about however, but she figured it hardly mattered. Palaedia was a non-issue, a fairytale. Why bother with something that would have no bearing on her life whatsoever?

Piyumi sighed, her eyes falling on the bouquet of flowers resting innocuously in a vase at her bedside, a bizarre but beautiful mix of hyacinths, roses, orchids and lotuses. She had yet to see her father, but the flowers were a telltale sign of his visits. They never seemed to wilt, so someone had to be replacing them while she was asleep. It was maddening. Even now, Miyuru was avoiding her. She couldn’t blame him after she had all but renounced him as her father, but still. 

On the morning of her fourteenth day at the hospital, however, Piyumi finally saw Miyuru walk into her room. He evidently hadn’t expected her to be awake because as soon as their eyes met, he turned on his heel to walk back out.

“Thatha! Wait!” 

Miyuru froze at the sound of her voice. A beat passed before his shoulders slumped defeatedly and he turned around to shuffle back into the room and plonk himself down into the seat closest to her bed. Miyuru hadn’t always been in the best shape, but it suddenly struck Piyumi how well beyond his thirty-four years her father looked in that moment. 

“Duwa, I…” Miyuru started to say before his voice broke off with a crack. He took in a deep breath and tried again. “I am so incredibly sorry. I…I’ve failed you. I’m sorry” 

Piyumi sighed, her eyes falling shut. She suddenly didn’t have the strength to hold them open anymore. “I don’t need you to be sorry, Thatha. I need you to be better.” 

Piyumi felt a hand hover above her head before it descended to stroke her hair — tentatively at first, and then firmer when she didn’t pull away. “I’m so sorry, my darling girl,” her father said. “I…I have made you suffer for far too long.”

Tears streamed down Piyumi’s cheeks. It seemed like she did nothing but cry these days. “I’m just so tired, Thatha,” she whispered. “I try, and I try, and I’m so tired. The kid shouldn’t have to be the grown-up, you know?” 

Miyuru didn’t say anything for a moment, but he kept carding his fingers through her hair. “I’ve let my love for your mother get the best of me,” he finally murmured. “I think I just missed the idea of family. My parents scraped together everything they had to give me the chance to study in this country and make something of myself. But then when I dropped out of school and had a child at twenty, unmarried and single, they cut me off. I haven’t spoken to them since.”

Piyumi pulled back from Miyuru, surprise flaring through her. Her father rarely talked about his family back in Sri Lanka, so she had just assumed that her grandparents were dead or something. 

Miyuru gave her a knowing but sad smile. “But it was okay, I thought. I had my love, your mother. Piyumi was definitely coming back. She’d come back and take us away and we could all be a real family.” 

“Do you still believe she will?” 

“Yes,” Miyuru said fiercely. “Yes, of course. I love her and she loves me, and when the time is right, she will return. I am certain of it.”

Piyumi turned away. Her heart sank but the hand on her shoulder brought her gaze back to the man beside her. 

“But I’m done waiting around for her to start being a real family,” Miyuru said with just as much fire. He let out a self-derisive snort. “It’s funny, I didn’t tell you about my family disowning me because I didn’t want you to feel like you were a burden, but I went ahead and did that anyway.” 

'Funny' wouldn’t be the word she would use, but hope tugged at her heart nonetheless. “Yeah, well, what I’m about to tell you may make you rethink where you stand on that,” she wrung her lower lip nervously. “Thatha, I think…I think I’m in trouble. The money I’ve been getting…I don’t think it’s from, um, very good people, and they may retaliate because of what happened a few days ago, and I-” 

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Miyuru smiled. “I’ve got it covered. This is not your mess. It’s mine. I never should have put you in that situation in the first place.”

“But, Thatha-” 

“But nothing,” Miyuru’s voice had a tone of finality that brooked no room for argument. “The kid shouldn’t have to be the grown up, right? And you will never have to be again, not with me, I swear.” 

The hope pulling at Piyumi’s chest swelled even further, but she stifled it. While her father’s promises seemed to be genuine this time around, she had been burned way too many times not to be cautious. 

“I want you to go to AA meetings.” 

“Okay.” 

“And see a therapist at least once a week.” 

“Okay.” 

“And for the love of God, get a job.” 

“Of course,” Miyuru grabbed her hands. His eyes flashed with a determined resolve. “You don’t have to find it in your heart to forgive me, Duwa, but I will say this — I will spend every day of the rest of my life trying to become the father you deserve. I promise.” 

For a moment, Piyumi just stared at her father. She didn’t know if she could ever forgive him, and, to be honest, there probably wasn’t enough time in the universe for him to make it up to her completely. He had destroyed years she would never get back. But still, in that small hospital room, where it was just the two of them and the rest of the world seemed so far away, she opened up to the idea that maybe, just maybe, they could repair their relationship. Get back a semblance of what they had when things were good. 

So, she nodded. She figured it wasn’t her father’s fault anyway.

She knew who was truly to blame. 

Like many on the cusp of turning nineteen-years-old, Piyumi had no idea what she was going to do with the rest of her life. Being a fresh high school graduate was not without its perks, though. She was in the midst of a socially-acceptable period of self-discovery. She was allowed and expected to take her time and see what was out there. But how could she begin to look when she had no idea what she was even looking for? 

This was the reason why Piyumi was spending her Sunday afternoon draped over the couch in her living room, idly scrolling her phone as university brochures lay sprawled all over the carpet, tossed aside and forgotten. Waliyha was busy studying, so she was unavailable, and the last time Piyumi had tried to hang out with Hunter when he was working at the milk bar, the poor boy had tearfully chased her out while begging her to stop pestering him in front of the customers. It wasn’t as if she could spend time with Silas, either — the bastard had ended their relationship a month ago, and she wouldn’t even have realised it if her father hadn’t pointed out that he'd sent her what she now knew was very clearly a break-up text. 

“Duwa? Are you home?” 

Speaking of…

The lollipop in her mouth dislodged with a loud pop as she sat up. “Hey, Thatha,” she said with a wave. “How was work?” 

Miyuru sighed, hanging his jacket on the coat rack before collapsing into the chair across from her. He had finally earned his Bachelors of Nursing, an achievement he credited to the amazing staff who had tended to Piyumi in the hospital five years ago. They had inspired him, apparently. Piyumi was just glad that something good had come out of that awful incident.

“Same old, same old,” Miyuru droned, grabbing a lollipop from the pile of unopened ones on the coffee table between them. “Chanika nandha talked about setting you up with her son.” 

“Again?” Piyumi rolled her eyes. Fucking aunties and their primal urge to pawn off their spawn in the name of marital bliss. “You’d think there’d be better things to talk about at a freakin’ hospital. What was her pitch this time?” 

“That he’s in his third year of medical school and the top of his class, apparently.” 

“Ew, wouldn’t that make him, like, thirty?” 

“He’s twenty-six.”

“Same thing. Might as well pack it up and call it a day at that point. Say, how old were you again-” 

Piyumi yelped as she caught a mouthful of the pillow that had slammed into her face. 

“Watch it,” Miyuru said warningly. “I may be your old man, but I am not an old man. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” Piyumi smirked, before her eyes fell on the university brochures scattered around the floor. “A doctor’s wife, huh? Think it comes with a 401(k)?” 

Miyuru snorted. “Yeah, the benefits are insane. Plenty of opportunities to work your way up too.” 

“Except, unlike other jobs, sleeping with the boss would be actually encouraged.” 

“Piyumi!” 

Piyumi took one glance at the utterly scandalised look on her father’s face and cackled. Wow, her father had actually used her name. She could count the times he'd done that on a single hand. 

“That aside…” Miyuru coughed after giving his daughter one last reprimanding look. “How’s the hunt for phase two coming?” 

“Phase two? More like phase boo,” Piyumi grumbled, kicking the brochure closest to her as if it had mortally offended her. “Or phase poo. Phase shoo? Phase I-have-no-clue? Whatever. The hunt is a bust. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.”

She knew that aimlessness wasn’t exactly a death sentence for a teenager, but there was something else broiling underneath, something she couldn’t quite put a finger on. It wasn’t like she didn’t have options. It had crossed her mind to take up some type of part-time or casual work, but any desire to do so was stamped out by a thought even she knew was spiteful. She felt entitled to loaf around. It was now her father’s turn to foot the burden of making money and supporting her after the hours she had put in years ago. He had to make up for lost time, and, damn it, part of her wanted to milk it for all it was worth. 

Besides, it didn’t seem like Miyuru minded. If he did, he had enough sense not to bring it up. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Miyuru got up from his seat, tossing away the now barren lollipop stick as he kissed Piyumi on the forehead. “These things just have a way of sorting themselves out. I’m going to take a quick shower then head off to my AA meeting. I’ll be home in time to whip up something for dinner.” 

Piyumi murmured a goodbye, eyes still on the battered brochure she had punted a few feet away. Even in such a sorry state, it was like it was taunting her. The more she leafed through the things, the more she was sure that university wasn’t for her. She had barely survived high school and the mere thought of more was enough to give her hives. And that would’ve been fine. That would’ve been fine, but- 

Fuck, Piyumi could not fathom dragging herself through a normal nine to five either. 

That left her with what? Becoming a house/trophy wife? Marrying rich and living off the fruits of her spouse’s labour? That wouldn’t be half bad if Piyumi didn’t have the domestic skills of a toddler and the temperament of someone who definitely couldn’t be trusted around things of value. Besides, with her romantic track record, forget a doctor’s wife, she would be lucky to be a wife, period. Wealthy people seldom settled for participation trophies, after all.

God, how she wished someone would just tell her what to do. To hand her a thoroughly detailed outline on what she was here for and how to achieve it. To whisk her away from all of this and say, here, this is your destiny, now go forth and bring it to fruition. If only there was someone like that. If only…

Piyumi’s eyes trailed to the fireplace. The framed photograph of her mother stared back. 

She shot to her feet. 

Surely Hunter couldn’t chase her out a second time, right?