SHE took a deep breath and said, with a tinge of fear in her eyes, “I guess it’s now or never.”
“Yup,” he smiled encouragingly. “It’s time to take back something of your life.”
He took her for a drive along the East Bank to the roundabout on Mandela Avenue. As he slowed down at the curved approaches, she had a good view of the new infrastructure and the model of the Harpy Eagle. He could see she was thrilled in her calm way. As they headed back to the city, he asked, “Feeling good?”
She nodded, a bit choked with emotion, and he reached across and squeezed her hand lightly.
“It gets better from here.”
He drove to the seawall and parked away from the crowded area, ensuring she wouldn’t feel any discomfort.
“Would you like to come out and sit on the seawall for a while?”
She shook her head, uncertain, and he said, “Okay, I’ll go get us something to eat.”
He didn’t take long to return with burgers and drinks, and as she took the first bite, she said, “Mmm, this tastes really good.”
“Yup, one of my favourite cooks.”
“I’m guessing with your early hours on the road, you eat a lot from street food vendors and shops.”
“Yes, to the point where one of them has won my heart.”
She stopped eating the burger and looked at him, feigning surprise. “Really? And who might that be?”
“Well,” he said, pausing for effect and putting down his burger, “she’s a beautiful girl with soulful eyes and a warm smile who seems to have lost her dream somewhere and is searching for happiness.”
She seemed a little stunned by his words, then smiled and looked away, unsure of how to respond.
“And,” he continued after a short while, “being with her is flirting with danger, but I’m willing to take that chance.”
“Why?” she asked softly.
“Because she needs me.”
In that moment, as they sat in their own little world, touched by the cool wind of the Atlantic, a love story was born—shadowed, however, by the steel fingers of danger.
Nothing more was said, nor needed to be said until it was time to leave.
At her home, as he said goodnight, she touched his hand and said, “Thank you for a wonderful outing—it’s made me feel better.”
“That, I’m happy to hear,” he said, kissing her cheek lightly. “Sleep well.”
For the first time in many nights, she did sleep well. Her mind was at ease, and the following day, she felt her spirits refreshed. Her mother, noticing the change in her, was somewhat relieved, having been tormented by the constant abuse her daughter endured.
Rachel began preparations to start her food business. The bruises on her face were fading, and she hoped her husband wouldn’t return early from the interior.
That evening, Dravid took her out for another drive, this time over the Demerara Bridge to the West Bank.
“Nice,” she said, looking around with interest at a place she had never visited before. On the way back, he stopped at the seawall again. This time, she got out of the vehicle and sat on the wall. Sighing with contentment, she leaned her head on his shoulder and said, “This feels so good—the freedom and peace. It’s like I can put on wings and fly.”
It felt good to him, too, seeing her happy. He wondered why she had married such a brute of a man but refrained from asking, waiting for when she was ready to talk about it.
One week later, while they sat in a small restaurant on the outskirts of the city, she told him, “I’m sure you’ve been wondering why I married Calvin.”
“Yeah, I kinda have.”
She sighed. “He wasn’t like that when I first met him. He was kind, fun, and ambitious. But not long after we got married, he changed. He started acting jealous, got angry easily, and discarded all his ambitious plans for secretive ‘business ventures.’”
She took a sip of her fruit punch and continued, “I decided to go back home because I didn’t want that kind of life, but he came and apologised, promising he’d change.”
“So you gave him a second chance?”
“Yes, and a third, and a fourth, until I lost control of my own life.”
Dravid shook his head, his expression wry. “He used your forgiving nature to destroy your self-esteem and confidence to keep you under his control.”
She said nothing, knowing it was true. He placed his hand over hers and said, “You’re still young and have so much to live for. I’ll help you get your life back—I promise.”
That night, after dropping her home, he had just driven off when an SUV turned into the street.
“Damn, that was close,” Dravid muttered. “I can’t keep doing this—I need a different plan.”
Worried for her safety, he lay in bed that night, thinking of ways to help her. Living with his parents, he couldn’t introduce her to them, given her circumstances. He decided to rent a house in Atlantic Gardens from a friend.
The following week, he went overseas on a business trip. When he returned, Rachel’s house was closed, and she hadn’t messaged him. As he walked to his car, he heard a noise inside. Knocking on the door, he called, “Rachel, are you there?”
There was silence, followed by a stifled cry: “Help.”
The door was locked, so he kicked it open and froze at the horrific scene. Calvin had a knife to Rachel’s throat. Blood dripped from cuts on her shoulders and hands.
“Drop the knife. You don’t have to do this.”
“She’s my wife! I can do whatever I want!”
“No, you can’t. She has a right to her own life.”
“You’ve been seeing my wife, haven’t you?!”
Dravid didn’t answer. Calvin pressed the knife closer to Rachel’s throat. Dravid, taking the slightest opportunity, shot him in the arm. Calvin dropped the knife but grabbed Rachel in a chokehold. Dravid shot him again, this time in the shoulder, and pulled Rachel to safety.
Neighbours had gathered, and Dravid shouted, “Call the police!” as he and others tended to Rachel’s wounds. She was taken to the hospital, and Calvin was arrested and charged with domestic abuse and attempted murder.
One week later, Rachel was discharged. Family and friends greeted her with relief and gratitude. Dravid then showed her a house in Atlantic Gardens.
“Your new beginning,” he said.