A U T H O R

“And then… when I was just three months pregnant… my husband… he… he died. He was driving… drunk… too fast… and… and it happened. He died. Just like that.”

Her lips quivered violently, and she swallowed hard, trying to stop the sobs that threatened to escape. “But… do you think anyone cared about me? About the child I was carrying? No… no one. Everyone blamed me… everyone… said it was my fault… that this child was a curse… a bad omen… that it brought death into our lives. My family… his family… they all looked at me like I was a monster… as if I had killed him myself… as if I was dangerous… as if this tiny life growing inside me… was evil.”

Her voice cracked as she tried to continue, her hands trembling in her lap.
“And then… they weren’t done with me. Three months pregnant, broken, humiliated… and still, they wanted to use me. They started forcing me to marry again. Not some stranger… not someone outside… but my husband’s younger brother.”

She gave a bitter, hollow laugh. “Why? Because my husband had left everything—his property, his money—on my name. And they couldn’t bear that. They thought if I married the younger son, everything would still remain in the family. Their wealth. Their control. That was all they cared about.”

Her eyes darkened, her tone sharpening with pain. “But when I refused… when I said no… they didn’t think twice. They threw me out. Just like that. Pregnant, alone, unwanted. Kicked out of the house as if I was some burden… some shame they wanted to erase.”

She took a deep breath, forcing her tears back, her voice steadier now, almost frightening in its composure.
“I remember that night… every second of it. When they pushed me out of that house, I stood on the street, numb. Pregnant… abandoned… and all I kept thinking was—where will I go now?”

Her eyes flickered with a hollow kind of strength. “So I went to my parents’ house. Hoping, just hoping, that maybe they’d still see me as their daughter. That maybe they’d hold me, let me breathe for a moment.”

A bitter smile tugged at her lips. “But the moment they opened the door, I saw it in their eyes—the disgust. Not sympathy, not concern… disgust. Like I was dirt that had somehow returned to stain their perfect lives.”

She drew in another sharp breath. “Still… they didn’t throw me out right there. No. They didn’t want the neighbors to whisper, to make a scene. So they let me in… but only to lock me away in a corner of the house, as if I was their biggest shame.”

“Vid… Vidyut, do you even know?” she whispered, her eyes glassy. “Before they even agreed to give me shelter… they wanted me to… to abort my baby. They wanted me to kill Tara before she even came into this world.”

Vidyut’s jaw clenched so hard it ached. His fists curled, nails digging into his palm. He could almost hear the blood rushing in his ears.

“They even dragged me to a hospital,” Ritvika’s words broke, and so did her voice. “They had spoken to the doctor, Vidyut. Everything was ready. Just one signature from me and… and Tara wouldn’t exist. Can you imagine?” She pressed a trembling hand against her stomach, as though still protecting the child she once carried. “I begged… I cried… somehow, somehow I managed to escape that day. Somehow I saved her. I saved my Tara.”

Her body shook, her tears streaming without pause, and Vidyut sat frozen—rage burning his veins, but his chest heavy with something he couldn’t name.

“And only after that,” she continued in a voice barely above a whisper, “only after I refused to give up my child, did they give me shelter. And for that… I promised myself I wouldn’t complain.

She drew a long breath, forcing herself not to cry again, and continued in a steady voice.

"I was given a small, dusty room to live in. When I asked why I couldn’t stay in my old room, they told me that nothing in this house belonged to me anymore—that my room had already been turned into a storeroom. I swallowed the hurt. At least they had given me shelter, even if without affection.

As the days passed, the news of my pregnancy spread quickly. People in the neighborhood whispered, but in front of them, my family pretended to stand by me. I was grateful, in a way, because at least they didn’t humiliate me publicly.

Some women from the neighborhood suggested to my parents that I should continue my studies. My father was completely against the idea—he didn’t want me to do anything that could draw attention to my condition. But when those women suggested I could study online, without stepping out, my parents reluctantly agreed. Not wanting to raise suspicion, they enrolled me in a college program.

That’s how I started studying again, this time online. It was difficult—living in a house that only cared for appearances, not for me—but I had no choice. Their concern existed only in front of others. When the doors were closed, I was invisible."

Managing pregnancy alongside studies and household work was nothing short of a war. Each day blurred into the next—waking up before everyone else, sweeping floors, scrubbing utensils, cooking meals, and pretending as if nothing inside me was changing. My body ached in ways I had never known before. Some mornings I would sit on the edge of the bed with my hands pressed against my stomach, silently praying for the strength to stand up.

But I never complained. Not once. Because somewhere, in the twisted logic of survival, I knew I was getting something in return. They gave me shelter—a roof that, though suffocating, still protected me from the world outside. They gave me food—at least I no longer had to worry about starving. And they agreed to pay half of my study expenses. For the rest 50%, I had to figure it out on my own.

That’s how I began working online. Late at night, when everyone else was asleep, I would sit quietly with my laptop, designing, writing, stitching, or creating small things that I could sell. Sometimes it was handmade crafts, sometimes digital projects, sometimes tutoring kids through video calls. Anything that could bring in a little money, I tried. The pay was never much, but it was something. And that “something” meant independence, no matter how tiny.

Balancing it all felt impossible. The days went in chores, the evenings in attending online lectures, and the nights in trying to earn. And amidst all this, the pregnancy never let me rest. Nausea, headaches, swollen feet, the constant fear of fainting—these were my uninvited companions. I couldn’t even let myself collapse, because every time I thought of giving up, I reminded myself—I wasn’t living just for me anymore.

And still, despite everything, I held my silence. I never asked them to reduce my burden. Because if I did, I knew they would remind me again that even the roof over my head was not mine, that the food I ate was charity, that the books I read came with a price. So, I learned to swallow my pain quietly.”

Ritvika’s voice trembled as she leaned back, her eyes clouded with memories she wished she could erase.

“When I turned five months pregnant, Vidyut… everything became unbearable. The body pain, the weakness, the loneliness—everything felt like it was crawling all over me. You know… I was just twenty at that time. Just twenty.” Her tone broke, her lips quivering.

She pressed her palm against her stomach as if still feeling the heaviness of those days.

“I was not complaining about chores, no. But do you know how much it hurt to wash piles of heavy clothes, sitting on the cold floor with that belly? How much it hurt to scrub those big utensils when even standing was painful? People say pregnancy is supposed to be a phase where you’re pampered, cared for… but me? I was breaking, Vidyut. Breaking silently.”

Her eyes welled up, but she forced a faint, bitter smile.

“Sometimes, when neighbors visited, they would talk about how their husbands fulfilled their every craving. They would giggle and share stories about how their husbands ran to bring them pickles, or pani puri, or sweets… and I? I just sat there, smiling at them. Smiling, even though inside I was screaming. Because for me, there was no one. No one to ask what I wanted. No one to bring me anything. I used to crave kerry pickle so badly… pani puri too. But I had no one. So I just… kept craving. And maybe after the fifth month, my baby understood too… maybe Tara understood even before she was born that her mumma’s cravings would never be fulfilled.”

Her faint smile turned into a hollow laugh, but the tears in her eyes betrayed her.

“Do you know, Vidyut… when I was seven months pregnant, I knitted a small pair of socks for my baby. They were yellow… my favorite color. It was the first thing I ever made for her, the first dream I wove with my own hands. I wanted to keep them safe, to make my baby wear them after she came into this world.”

Her voice cracked, and the next words came out in a choked whisper.

“But that dream never came true… because the day those socks were finally ready, Maa ruined them. She said they were useless. She tore them apart, Vidyut. Just like that. And I cried… I cried so much that day. Because it wasn’t just socks… it was my love, my effort, my hope as a mother. And they destroyed it. The only thing I had made for my child with my own hands… they ruined it.”

Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as her chest heaved with suppressed sobs. Her fingers trembled as if still holding those tiny socks in her palms.

“Do you understand this pain, Vidyut? Do you understand what it feels like… to have even the smallest happiness snatched away when you’re already carrying the weight of the world inside you?”

Her voice fell to a whisper, almost breaking under the weight of her memories.

“I wasn’t asking for luxuries, I wasn’t asking for diamonds… I only wanted to smile during those days, to feel like a mother who was loved and cared for. But all I got was silence, chores, pain, and broken dreams.”

She shut her eyes, and the silence that followed carried the sound of her muffled sobs, raw and suffocating, filling the air like a wound that had never healed.

Ritvika’s voice trembled, but there was a soft glow in her eyes as she continued, “I also wanted to do things for my baby… Vidyut, I wanted to buy things for him even before he was born. You know, I used to sit and scroll online for hours—tiny socks, soft blankets, little caps. I imagined how he would look in them.” She let out a faint laugh, a fond smile tugging her lips, but it faded quickly. “But no… I couldn’t buy anything. They were never in my budget. I tried to collect small savings, every little coin I could… but it was never enough.”

Her fingers absentmindedly twisted the edge of her dupatta, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I felt helpless, Vidyut. A mother dreams to prepare for her child… but I couldn’t. And it broke me every single day.”

She paused, a small silence settling between them, before her smile softened again—this time warmer, touched with pride. “Then… I decided if I couldn’t buy, I would make. I couldn’t let Maa know, or she would again destroy it ,  I made something for my baby with my own hands.”

Her tone brightened with a childlike excitement as she suddenly stood up and rushed towards the wardrobe. “Wait—I’ll show you.”

She pulled out a small folded cloth bundle and came back to him, her eyes shining. With trembling hands, she opened it and revealed a tiny pair of handmade gloves, neatly stitched from old cloth. “See… I made these. For Tara.”

Her voice cracked as she smiled, lost in the memory. “When Tara was born, she wore them. And you know what, Vidyut? She used to giggle so much, wriggling her tiny hands inside these. She looked so happy… like she knew they were made just for her.”

Ritvika held the gloves close to her chest for a moment, her eyes moist yet full of love, before placing them carefully on the bed. “These are not perfect, but they are my first gift to her. The only thing I could truly give her back then.”

“And then… the day finally came. The day of delivery. But it was my misfortune that no one was at home that day. Maa, Papa, and Nisha di… all three had gone to attend a relative’s wedding.

I was in so much pain, crying alone, not knowing what to do. And then… the doorbell rang. A lady from my neighborhood came in—like an angel sent by God. She immediately rushed me to the hospital with her.

You know, I had already saved some money for that day… but it wasn’t enough. That lady, my neighbor, she paid my bill too. I can never forget what she did for me.

But my condition was very critical. The doctor even said it was a complicated delivery… that both me and my baby could have lost our lives. Still… with God’s grace, my baby came into this world.

She was so tiny when I first saw her. Her little face, her pink hands, those tiny-tiny fingers… she looked so beautiful, like an angel. MY ANGEL”

Vidyut’s jaw tightened at her words, his eyes darkening. That single phrase—my angel—struck something sharp inside him. He leaned forward, his voice low but firm.

“Our angel, Ritvika.”

But the moment those words left his lips, Ritvika shook her head violently, her eyes welling with fresh tears.

“No! No, Vidyut… not ours. She is not yours. She is mine… only mine. My angel.” Her voice cracked, trembling but unyielding. “From the day she was born, till now—I have taken care of her. Every pain, every tear, every sleepless night… it was me. Only me. I fed her, I held her, I prayed for her. I almost died bringing her into this world. She belongs to me, Vidyut… not you, not anyone else. Just me. My angel… mine.”

Her chest heaved as she clutched her own arms like she was protecting something invisible, her face fierce in its fragility

For a long moment, Vidyut said nothing. His eyes locked on hers, calm yet merciless, as though he could see straight into the raw fear behind her words. Then, with a voice steady and low, he replied—

“You can keep fighting me, Ritvika. You can deny me all you want. But that doesn’t change the truth—she is ours. Whether you accept it or not.”

His words weren’t loud, but the weight in them was enough to make Ritvika’s breath hitch and her protest die on her lips.

Ritvika’s voice trembled as she whispered, almost as if confessing a sacred truth to herself,
“She is mine… because I am her mother. When she was born, only my neighbor was there by my side. Even when I was in labor, my own family didn’t come… because when they found out it was a girl, they abandoned me. From that day till now, they have never accepted my daughter.”

For a long moment, Vidyut said nothing. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable, but his eyes burned with a cold fire. When he finally spoke, his voice was calm—too calm—but every word carried a piercing weight that made Ritvika halt.

“And yet, despite all that, you still let their words cut you. Why? Do you not see that they lost the right to matter the day they asked you to kill her?”

Ritvika’s voice cracked as she finally looked up at him, her eyes brimming with unspilled tears.
“Remember, Vidyut… you said I destroyed your life the day I married you. But it was not my choice. I never wanted to marry you, Vidyut… never. My parents forced me.”

Her breathing turned heavy, her fingers clutching at her suit as if to stop herself from shattering.
“They said that if I didn’t marry you, when Nisha di ran away, they would do something to my Tara. She is my world. I couldn’t let anything happen to my daughter. So I agreed to marry you. Not by choice… but because I had no other option. I… I—”

Her voice broke entirely, words dissolving into silence as the weight of her truth lingered between them.

Vidyut’s eyes didn’t soften, nor did they flare in anger. He just stood there, unnervingly calm, watching her with a silence sharp enough to pierce through her trembling confession. His expression carried no pity, no visible rage—only that measured, unsettling calm that made her feel more exposed than if he had shouted.

Ritvika’s voice trembled as fresh tears escaped her eyes. She lowered her head, shoulders shaking, and whispered brokenly, each word slicing the air, “You said you’ll make my life hell… that you won’t let me live in peace… and you kept your promise, Vidyut. You completed it.”

Her lips quivered as silence settled between them. She sobbed softly, her body curling in on itself before she suddenly wiped her face harshly with her palms. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she reached for her phone lying on the side table.

Her fingers hovered for a moment before she typed a message quickly—eyes blurred but determined. The phone screen dimmed as she locked it, clutching it tightly for a second before placing it down.

Without sparing Vidyut a glance, she walked straight to the wardrobe.

“Ritvika, what are you—” Vidyut’s voice carried confusion, but she didn’t respond. She wasn’t listening.

Moments later, she emerged, dragging out a bag—the very same one in which her family had sent her clothes on the day of their wedding. The sight of it in her hands made Vidyut frown, his brows knitting in disbelief.

“What… what are you doing?” he asked, his tone edged with confusion.

Ritvika’s voice was hoarse, her eyes still swollen from the tears that had refused to stop moments ago. Yet when she finally spoke, there was no anger, no pleading—just a cold steadiness that made the words cut sharper than any scream.

“I’ve only taken the clothes I brought from my parents’ house,” she said evenly, her tone flat, deliberate. “And two small pairs for Tara. That’s it. All the other clothes are still in the cupboard. If you think I’ve taken more… you’re welcome to check for yourself.”

Her voice did not tremble, but it carried a finality that made the room feel heavier. Each syllable sounded like it had been carved out of the silence, leaving an echo that refused to fade.

Without waiting for him to react, she turned and walked across the room. The faint chime of her anklets broke the stillness, the sound hauntingly soft yet startling in the thick air. Vidyut stood where he was, frowning, his confusion tightening like a knot in his chest. He shifted his weight, his lips parting at last.

“Ritvika, what are you—”

But she cut through his voice as if she hadn’t heard it at all. Her hand reached for the cabinet tucked against the wall—the one that held her medicines. She pulled open the drawer with slow, deliberate movements. One by one, she began taking out the strips and bottles, her fingers trembling faintly though her expression was frighteningly composed.

“These medicines…” she whispered, her eyes fixed on the bottles instead of him. “The ones you bought for me… you can return them.”

She set each item carefully on the table, lining them with a precision that felt almost ritualistic, as though with every strip of tablets, every small bottle she placed down, she was severing another tie that bound her here.

Her voice cracked faintly at the edges, but she forced herself to continue. “And the money,” she said, her tone tightening. “Whatever money you’ve spent on me, or on my child… I’ll give it back to you. All of it. Just… give me a few days.”

The last strip left her hand and landed on the wooden surface with a soft thud. She stayed there for a moment, her palm lingering on the table as if she was grounding herself, before straightening. Her chest rose and fell unevenly, her breaths heavy, but her eyes carried a resolve Vidyut had never seen in her before.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Vidyut’s brows pulled together sharply, his jaw tightening, but no words came. He hadn’t expected this—not this version of Ritvika, who wasn’t pleading for his mercy, wasn’t collapsing under his accusations, but instead was calmly, methodically stripping herself away from his life, piece by piece.

Her quiet defiance unsettled him more than her tears ever had. For the first time in a long while, silence did not feel like power in his hands—it felt like something slipping away.

Vidyut’s patience finally snapped. He grabbed Ritvika angrily and pulled her towards him, her body colliding hard against his chest. His eyes drilled holes into hers, rage oozing out, his breath harsh and uneven against her face.

“Where the hell are you going?” he demanded, his voice sharp and cutting, making Ritvika flinch. He didn’t stop, his tone burning through the silence. “What the hell are you doing, hmm?”

Ritvika’s first instinct was fear, but she quickly composed herself. Her lips trembled, yet her voice came out steady.
“I... I am leav... leaving your house,” she breathed out, her words making Vidyut’s jaw clench tight with fury.

His grip tightened, his voice even harsher now.
“And with whose permission are you leaving?” he asked, his gaze unrelenting.

Ritvika lifted her chin slightly, her tone firm as she shot back,
“With my permission. With my choice, Mr. Vidyut Rajvansh.”

Vidyut’s grip on her arm tightened as he dragged her closer, his chest rising and falling against hers, the heat of his breath fanning her face. His eyes were sharp, piercing, a storm brewing in their depths as he repeated with a low growl,
“With your permission?” His voice was laced with mockery, sharp enough to slice through her already trembling resolve. “You think you can walk out of my house… on your choice?”

Ritvika tried to steady herself, her voice shaking but her chin raised in defiance.
“Yes. With my choice. I am not your prisoner, Mr. Vidyut Rajvansh.”

His jaw clenched harder, the muscle ticking as his anger boiled over. He leaned in, their faces only inches apart, his voice dropping lower but sharper, like venom.
“Not my prisoner?” A humorless smirk tugged at his lips. “Then tell me, Ritvika… who gave you this freedom you are boasting about? Who allowed you to breathe under this roof? Who allowed you to stay in this house under my name?”

Ritvika’s throat went dry. She tried to push against his chest, but his hold was unrelenting. Still, she managed to whisper, her voice trembling yet holding fragments of courage,
“I don’t need your permission to live my life. I am not bound to you.”

That sentence seemed to ignite something far darker in him. His eyes burned into hers, his voice rising with barely controlled fury.
“Not bound to me?” he repeated, his hand gripping her wrist so tightly it almost hurt. “The day you stepped into my life, Ritvika, you lost the right to claim that. You think you can just walk away… as if you decide when this ends?”

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, but she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Yes. I decide.”

For a moment, silence stretched between them, tense and suffocating. Then, with a sudden jerk, Vidyut pulled her even closer, her back pressing against his iron-hard chest, his lips dangerously close to her ear as he hissed,
“No, Ritvika. You don’t decide anything here. I do. You go when I say you can go. You stay when I allow you to stay. Until then—” his voice cut sharper, “don’t even think of testing my patience again.”

THANK YOU FOR READING !!

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