That night, after reading the message from his older brother, Amri did not immediately follow Whira into the bedroom.
He remained standing in the front room while the sound of Keysa's crying slowly faded in her mother's arms. The small lamp on the table cast his shadow onto the wall. The shadow looked larger than he was, but for the first time, Amri felt incapable of protecting anyone.
His phone was still in his hand.
Amri, don't make us wait too long. We've helped with the ticket. The terms remain as discussed.
He turned off the screen and slipped the phone into his pants pocket. There was no point deleting the message. Whira had already read it. The secret he'd kept all this time had finally come to light, and he had no good enough reason to make his wife trust him.
From the bedroom came the soft sound of Whira humming. Her voice was no longer trembling like before, but that only frightened Amri more. Whira was always at her calmest when her heart was making a major decision.
A few minutes later, Whira came out carrying Keysa. The baby had already fallen asleep, her cheek resting against her mother's shoulder.
"Tomorrow, we're going to your brother's house," Whira said.
Amri looked at her. "Why?"
"I want to hear the terms directly from them. All this time, Babe has been the one talking, Babe has been the one making decisions, and I've only been told to accept them. This time, I want to know what they really want."
"Whira—"
"I'm not angry because you borrowed money." She paused and looked at Keysa's face. "I'm angry because you made our child part of the deal without telling me."
Amri lowered his head.
"They don't mean to take Keysa," he said quietly. "They just want to keep her until we can work and pay the money back."
"Keysa isn't something you can leave as collateral. She's only seven months old. She needs her mother when she wakes up, when she's hungry, when she has a fever—even when she just wants to be held."
"I know."
"If you know that, then why did you agree?"
The question made the front room fall silent again. Outside, the sound of a passing vehicle briefly rose, then faded at the end of the road.
Amri rubbed his tired face.
"Because I wanted you to come home," he said. "I know you hold back your tears every time you call Mom. I know you want to see them before it's too late. But I also didn't know where else to get the money. The farm's earnings aren't enough yet. We haven't paid off the fertilizer debt. If I sell the motorcycle, we won't be able to transport the harvest."
Whira fell silent. The anger had not left her face, but for a moment, she could see the burden her husband had been carrying alone.
"You should have talked to me," she said more softly.
"I was afraid you'd blame me."
"I am blaming you now. But not because we're poor. I'm blaming you because you thought I would leave you to face this problem alone."
Amri lifted his face.
Whira adjusted Keysa in her arms. "We'll find another way. If we have to work, I'll work. If we have to save longer, then we'll save. But Keysa will not be left in anyone else's home."
"Then we can't come home next week."
The sentence fell between them like a heavy object.
Whira closed her eyes. She had already known that was a possibility, but hearing it directly from Amri still made her chest tighten.
For some reason, everything she heard now felt suffocating.
"I know," she replied.
"Are you disappointed?"
"Very."
"I'm sorry."