Math Homework and Masala Dosa
Vidhya came home at 7:25 PM.
The train was late. The boss was cranky. Her son, Karthik, was sprawled on the floor with math worksheets and a worried brow.
She changed into a cotton nightie, tied her hair up, and began dinner.
“Amma, I don’t get this sum!”
Masala sputtered in the pan. She leaned over the worksheet, solved the first problem, flipped the dosa, added chutney, and kissed his forehead—all in one fluid movement.
She didn’t speak of exhaustion. Or dreams paused. Or the raise she didn’t get.
That night, Karthik said, “You’re my hero.”
She didn’t cry. But she slept with a full heart for once.