He smiled, relieved. He never knew how to fix things. But he knew how to make chai exactly the way she liked it—with ginger, and just a little bit of tulsi leaf.

She leaned her head on his shoulder. The repaired pink teapot sat on the shelf, glue scars visible.

“You held the house together today,” he said.

She handed him a jute rag. “Then you help the lizard. You clean this first.”

Instead of crying, she pulled out a tube of superglue. “Bring it here. And bring me a fresh cup of chai. Hot this time.”

Then the third thing broke.

“I didn’t,” she whispered. “I just held us together. The house can break. That’s fine.”

By 5 PM, she had located the pressure cooker (it was in the car trunk—don’t ask). Arjun delivered it. The laddoos were accepted. She finally sat down to drink her chai, which had gone cold three times. But cold chai in a broken household was still chai.