She had choices, analysed them, tried to alter. Waited. Finally, she had changed. 'Now, no choices.' Leaving the estate alone early that morning was an impulse. Born of desperation. The days ahead had the appearance of granite wall stretching in all directions. Bashed her head. To no avail. Continuing to do so hadn’t been a choice. Regret, a shadow, weighty, from the time she challenged the world alone. The husband had been protector. She ached for his arms around her. The calm voice. As a fugitive, twice guilty, she was viewing Sirimal with deeper emotions. Reversal had been possible till death wrote the final line. Always. She hadn’t acted.