“Make it Rs 7,000,” my dad bargained. “We didn’t approach anyone else. Trust you completely. And I promise to give you the contract in future as well.”
I squirmed in darkness hanging on his every word.
“Deal,” the doctor grinned.
My mom sat with pursed lips, knowing well that her womb shall be my grave.
[Author's Note: The title for this story has been inspired from a phrase used in this poem by Surbhi Bafna, a co-blogger and my close friend,]