⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟐.（1）˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
PART 1
“So how did you faint if you don’t have any medical history?”
His voice was sharp. Unrelenting.
His eyes bore into mine like they could peel back the layers I was trying so hard to protect.
My throat felt dry. My hands began to tremble slightly in my lap, hidden from his view under the blanket.
How do I tell him?
How do I tell him about the truth I’ve locked inside me?
How do I explain that my body is breaking faster than my heart can cope…?
I looked down, forcing my voice to stay steady.
“It’s nothing… just… weakness. I didn’t eat properly. That’s all.”
A half-lie. But at least it wasn’t the full truth.
Vidyut didn’t look convinced.
He scoffed slightly, pushing back from the bed, his jaw clenched.
“So careless,” he muttered under his breath.
Then his eyes flicked toward Tara, who was still sleeping beside me, her tiny fist curled on the blanket.
And that’s when his voice dropped lower.
Colder.
“What if something had happened to Tara while you were unconscious?”
The weight of his words punched through my chest.
I closed my eyes, holding back the tears threatening to spill again.
I already asked myself that a hundred times.
Already hated myself for it.
“I’m sorry…” I whispered, my voice barely rising above a breath.
He didn’t reply.
The silence that followed wasn’t comforting.
It was loud.
Almost punishing.
And somehow… I deserved it.
And then he left
The door clicked shut behind him.
And with that sound… something inside me cracked.
I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. I just sat there—still—eyes fixed on the sleeping form of my daughter.
My little Tara.
My betu.
Her tiny fists were curled near her chest, lips parted softly as she breathed—peacefully now. But I knew how much she had cried. How long. Alone. On those stairs. Her foot bruised. Her eyes swollen.
Because of me.
All because of me.
My chest clenched.
I gently reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, fingers trembling. A tear slipped down my cheek and dropped onto the pillow beside her.
She didn’t stir.
Thank God she didn’t see me break again.
“I’m sorry, Tara…” I whispered, my voice cracking. “I’m so sorry…”
What kind of mother forgets the world while her child bleeds?
What kind of mother makes her daughter cry for hours?
What kind of mother can’t even stand straight without the fear of fainting?
This… this is not what you deserve.
You deserve better.
You deserve a mother who can play with you endlessly, laugh with you, hold you high in the air, kiss every bruise away without struggling to stay awake.
Not someone like me.
Weak. Failing. Broken.
My hands gripped the blanket tightly. The heaviness inside my chest… it wasn’t just the illness anymore. It was guilt. And it was eating me alive.
I should’ve taken more care. I should’ve stayed stronger. I should’ve—
No.
I should’ve never come into your life.
Because ever since I did… pain followed.
Vidyut’s anger wasn’t wrong. His words, sharp as they were, weren’t entirely misplaced.
If anything had happened to Tara today… I wouldn’t have survived it.
The thought itself ripped through me like a thousand knives.
And yet…
Yet I’m still here.
Living in this house like I belong.
When I don’t.
I’m just a ticking clock, counting moments, pretending to be okay… but the truth?
I’m terrified.
Terrified of the day my body will finally give up… and she’ll be left behind.
The night was heavy — not with noise, but with silence. The kind of silence that screamed louder than any storm.
Ritvika sat cross-legged on the floor beside the bed, her eyes still swollen from crying. The house was asleep. Tara was asleep. But Ritvika… wasn’t.
Sleep had long forgotten her.
With trembling hands, she opened her tiny diary — the same one she had hidden deep inside the drawer, away from everyone’s eyes. She turned to a fresh page, picked up the pen… and her heart bled through the ink.
"Sorry, Tara… my baby…"
The first words came with a tear.
"I’m really sorry. Because of me… you cried today. Because of me… you got hurt. Mumma is sorry. Really, really, really sorry."
Her shoulders shook.
"I never wanted to hurt you. Never. But still… it happened. You were bleeding, you were alone… and I wasn’t there to hold you."
"I should’ve never let you see that. Never let you cry like that. But what do I do, Baacha? Mumma is… weak. Not by choice, but… still weak."
She paused, the pen trembling between her fingers.
"You cried so much today. And I couldn’t stop your tears. That’s not what a mumma is supposed to do, right? But I… I failed."
"Please forgive me, beta. One day, when you grow up and if you ever read this… just know, your mumma never wanted to cause you pain. Not even a scratch."
"But unintentionally… I did."
She placed the pen down slowly, covering her mouth to hold back the sob that escaped her throat. Her hands clenched the diary tightly, holding on as if it were the only place she was allowed to fall apart.
The pen slipped from her fingers.
Her shoulders trembled, the diary now clutched to her chest as if it were her last comfort, her only truth.
Tara’s faint breathing echoed from the bed, soft and steady… untouched by the storm silently raging just a few feet away.
And then, in the dead stillness of the night, Ritvika broke.
She looked up at the ceiling, eyes red, her voice barely escaping her throat — hoarse, fragile, but drenched in unbearable grief.
"Please... please keep her away from me."
It wasn’t addressed to anyone.
Not to God.
Not to the walls.
Just… to the void.
Her voice trembled—barely a whisper, yet sharp enough to slice through the silence.
"She'll only get hurt… she has to break the habit of being around me… because if I die—"
Her words collapsed.
She choked, her breath hitching, her throat too tight to go on.
Tears spilled again, blinding her vision, drowning the rest of the sentence.
She bit her lip, curling into herself as if she could hide from her own truth.
She didn’t notice the slight creak in the hallway. She didn’t notice the shadow near the door. She didn’t notice the sharp inhale that didn’t belong to her.
She said those words… unaware of the fact that someone was watching her.
Her words kept echoing.
I asked her… does she have any medical history?
She denied. Flatly.
But something about her face… the tremor in her voice… the way her fingers wouldn’t stop fidgeting…
She was lying.
I’m not a fool. I’ve seen enough liars to read one.
But still, I didn’t push.
I wasn’t in the mood to deal with more drama, not after everything that had already happened. My mind needed silence. So I left.
Now, as I returned home — the mansion drowned in night’s stillness — I headed towards my room quietly, my steps slow, the weight of the day heavier than usual.
I turned the handle, ready to step in…
But I froze.
I heard something.
A voice.
Her voice.
Ritvika.
Muffled. Fragile. Cracked at the edges.
I stood still.
“Please... please keep her away from me...”
My hand dropped from the doorknob.
Her voice wasn’t angry.
It wasn’t bitter.
It was… broken.
“She’ll only get hurt… she has to break the habit of being around me… because if I die—”
My breath caught.
What the hell was she talking about?
I stepped back, away from the door, suddenly unsure of myself.
Something in me… something I couldn't name… twisted hard in my chest.
Die?
Why the hell was she saying things like that?
I didn’t enter.
I couldn’t.
Instead, I stood frozen in the hallway… silent witness to a moment I was never meant to hear —
but one that would haunt me far more than I was ready for.
I stood there.
Frozen.
That one sentence kept playing in my ears on repeat —
"She has to break the habit of being around me… because if I die—"
What the hell did she mean by that?
What was she hiding?
My legs wouldn’t move. My brain refused to think straight. For a man who prided himself on control, on calculation — I was standing outside a door like a fool, not knowing what to do next.
But eventually, I moved.
I opened the door quietly, stepping inside with careful feet.
And the sight that greeted me…
It wasn’t violent.
It wasn’t loud.
It was quiet.
Too damn quiet.
Ritvika was asleep — or perhaps just passed out from exhaustion — her body curled slightly to one side. Her hand was resting protectively on Tara, who was half-tucked under her mother’s arm, her thumb near her lips, already lost in innocent dreams.
But Ritvika…
Her face.
Even in sleep, it looked broken. Tear-streaked. Tired beyond what any sleep could cure.
I stood there, watching them both.
So fragile. So unaware.
Something clawed inside me.
I stepped closer — eyes scanning — until they landed on the side table.
Medicines.
Blister strips. Half-full.
And not the ones the doctor prescribed today.
My brows furrowed.
I reached out slowly, picked one of them up.
The name… it wasn’t familiar.
In fact, none of the tablets on the table matched what the doctor had listed.
A weird feeling crawled up my spine.
What the hell are these?
I pulled out my phone.
Opened the flashlight.
And tilted the strip under the light.
My thumb hovered over the name.
One by one, I started searching the names on Google.
Each result… hit harder than the last.
Cardiac medication.
High-risk heart condition.
Heart muscle weakness.
Side effects: dizziness, blackouts, fatigue, shortness of breath.
I stepped back.
Heart racing.
What the hell is going on?
My gaze shot back to Ritvika.
Peacefully asleep.
But suddenly, all I could see were the signs.
The fainting.
And then — her voice again.
“Because if I die—”
Everything started clicking.
And I… just stood there.
Still.
No longer angry.
Just… overwhelmed
Vidyut stood there.
Unmoving.
A strip of tablets clutched in his hand, his phone screen still glowing faintly with the search results.
But his eyes… they were stuck.
On her.
Ritvika.
Sleeping quietly. Almost too quietly.
Tara shifted in her arms, her tiny palm resting near her mother's chin, as if even in sleep she was trying to hold on.
But Vidyut—
He couldn't.
He couldn’t move.
Couldn’t speak.
Couldn’t even blink properly.
His mind was a mess of swirling thoughts, crashing one over the other.
Why?
Why was Ritvika taking these medicines?
Why was she hiding them?
Why didn’t she tell the doctor?
Why didn’t she tell… him?
He wasn't a fool.
He knew these weren’t ordinary tablets.
He had read the warnings. The red markers.
“Chronic condition.
Heart failure management.
Risk of fatigue, fainting, breathlessness.”
Was it this?
Was this the reason for her pale face?
The word slashed across his chest without warning.
A shiver ran down his spine.
No.
She couldn’t be.
He didn't want to care.
He had convinced himself—time and again—that this marriage meant nothing. That this woman meant nothing. That her silence and tears and gentle eyes… meant nothing.
But now, watching her lying there, so still, with his daughter sleeping by her side, something inside him crumbled.
She had faced it all alone.
Carried whatever this was… alone.
And still chose to protect Tara every second.
Still smiled when it was needed.
Still cooked. Took care.
Still stayed.
He looked at the medicines again.
What are you hiding, Ritvika?
And more importantly…
Why the hell are you hiding it from me?
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PART 2 WILL BE UPDATED TOMORROW.