Mukesh. The pious. The unadulterated. The embodiment of a hard-working immigrant who made a rich name in America and remained humble all the way. Mukesh. The only man I hated more than Dad. Dad, oh, I could loathe him, argue, slam doors in his face. Mukesh? I wanted to literally kill him. Because he deserved it. But without evidence of his sexual assault against me, his word against mine, the saint against the whore, there was no point. He was the reason I was broken. And he was the reason why I wasn’t welcomed here, with his malicious fueling of the gossip fire that made me stay away.
