Chapter 55
IRA
My palms were damp against the steering wheel, my heart thundering in my chest, my throat so dry it ached. I told myself to breathe, to stay steady, but every turn I made toward Prashant’s quarters only sharpened the edge of my nervousness.
I had everything ready, every paper signed, every form completed.
My retirement was official, and the path to the US lay clear before me.
But what wasn’t clear, what had never been clear was how to tell Prashant.
I had rehearsed it a hundred times in my mind, searching for the right words, at the right moment.
Yet I knew the truth: there would never be a “right” time.
No matter when I said it, the end would be the same, hurt, grief, and silence hanging heavy between us.
My heart skipped when I finally saw him. He stood at the doorway with Iraaj in his arms, waiting, as though he had been expecting me. The sight hit me harder than I imagined.
“Ma...ma...” Iraaj squealed, wriggling free the moment his eyes found me. He ran, his little feet pattering against the floor, and I scooped him up, kissing his soft, chubby cheeks. His giggles melted the storm inside me, if only for a moment.
“He’s been missing you,” Prashant said, handing over the bag slung across his shoulder. His voice was gentle, almost casual, but I didn’t miss the shadow lingering in his eyes.
Iraaj buried his face in my neck, tugging playfully at my hair. My smile came unbidden, and for a moment, it almost felt like old times. We stepped inside.
The moment I crossed the threshold, I was surrounded by Prashant, his scent, his little touches scattered in every corner, the faint warmth that seemed to cling to the walls. It was painfully familiar. Too familiar.
“I’m glad you came,” he said, settling beside me on the couch. His shoulder brushed mine lightly, and I instinctively leaned away, putting a deliberate inch of distance between us.
I couldn’t let myself drift closer. Not now. Not ever again.
I focused on my hands, rubbing my palms together, forcing myself to inhale, exhale steadily. Iraaj plopped down on the floor, surrounded by his toys, his laughter rising in the quiet room. I watched him for a moment, realizing that he looked happiest when he had both his parents with him.
That realization almost undid me.
“I’m moving to the US,” I said finally, my voice was low but firm. I didn’t dare look at him, not yet. Still, I felt it, the way his body froze beside me, the silence stretching taut like a rope pulled to breaking.
“…with Iraaj.”
When I finally raised my gaze, my breath caught. His face had gone pale, as if all the color had been drained from it. He looked at me as though I had just betrayed him all over again.
One second. Two. Three. The silence stretched until I could feel it clawing at my skin.
Then he forced a smile, broken and trembling at the edges.
“That’s… that’s great.” His voice cracked, but he kept going. “I mean...US. Wow. That’s… cool.” He raked his fingers through his hair, and I noticed how badly they were shaking. “I’m happy for you. Really. Happy.”
I bit my lip hard to stop it from quivering.
He was crumbling right in front of me, shrinking into himself, but still putting on a brave face.
I wanted to scream at him for it, for making me feel this pull of pity when I swore I would not.
I wanted to hug him and tell him he deserved every bit of pain.
That he deserved not to see his son again.
But my chest ached with the urge to cry.
“I’m taking him today,” I said quietly, rising with Iraaj in my arms. My voice felt like glass, fragile, ready to shatter.
Prashant didn’t move. He didn’t even look at me. I swallowed hard, blinking away the tears that burned behind my eyes.
“Say goodbye to Daddy,” I whispered into Iraaj’s ear.
Finally, Prashant stood. He stepped toward us, his arms circling both of us in a sudden, tight embrace. I felt the tremor in his body as he buried his face in his son’s hair.
“I’ll always wait for you two,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “No matter what.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, he released us. Without another glance, he turned, retreating quickly into his room.
The sound of the door shutting echoed like a final nail in my chest. I stood there for a long moment, staring at the barrier between us, fighting the urge to follow, to break it down and confront him. But I knew if I did, it would break me instead.
So I turned away, clutching Iraaj tightly, and walked out into the uncertain light of the future.
_______
My quarters felt emptier than ever, even with the little body that now seemed to inhabit every corner.
Iraaj filled the silence with his endless chatter, his clumsy footsteps, and his innocent laughter that bounced from wall to wall.
All day he played, dragging toys across the floor, babbling as though recounting grand tales only he could imagine, climbing onto my lap and tugging at my hair until I surrendered, defeated by his unstoppable giggles.
For a while, I let myself believe it would be enough. That my love, my presence, would fill the void, that I could be both mother and father if I had to. But children know. They always know.
By evening, his laughter began to falter.
His little eyes, wide and searching, kept darting toward the doorway as though expecting someone to walk through it.
Every time footsteps echoed outside, his head jerked up, his lips parting with hope.
When the door stayed shut, his shoulders slumped, and the hope faded.
“Pa...pa?” he mumbled once, so soft I almost wished I hadn’t heard it. God, he was missing Prashant. I wondered how many times he called Prashant papa and how Prashant must have been feeling.
I kissed his forehead, pulling him close. “Papa’s not here, sweetheart. Mama’s here.”
But my words didn’t comfort him. By nightfall, his restlessness had hardened into tears.
He cried and cried, his small body trembling in my arms, his cheeks wet against my chest. I tried everything, his favorite toy, the lullabies he loved, warm milk, gentle rocking, even stepping out into the cool night air with him pressed against me. Nothing worked.
His cries only grew hoarser, his little fists clenching my top, his eyes refusing to close. My own exhaustion set in, but panic pressed harder than sleep.
Finally, with trembling hands, I dialed. “Ma…” My voice broke as soon as she answered. “He won’t stop crying. He keeps calling for Prashant. I don’t know what to do.”
Her voice, steady, carried the weight of experience. She told me to stay calm, to try certain remedies, and to call Kavya if needed. And I did. Kavya rushed over, her presence warm and reassuring, but even she couldn’t quiet his storm.
Then the heat came. Subtle at first, then burn. When I touched his forehead, the warmth scorched my palm. Fear roared through me.
“He’s burning,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “Oh God, he’s burning.”
Without another thought, I scooped him up and rushed to the hospital. The ride was a blur of red lights and prayers, my heart pounding with every ragged cry that escaped him.
At the hospital, doctors examined him, assured me the fever was from exhaustion, from over-crying, that he needed rest, fluids, and comfort. They gave him medicine, and slowly, mercifully, his cries weakened. His little body softened against me, his lashes damp as he finally drifted into sleep.
I sat there by his bed, still clutching his tiny hand, afraid to let go. My heart refused to be quiet, even when his did. I kept watching him, guilt gnawing me raw. Was this my doing? Had I been selfish, tearing him from the comfort he knew, from the father he loved so fiercely?
The door creaked then, and I looked up.
Prashant stood there. His face was pale, drawn, but his eyes went straight to Iraaj. For a moment, the weight between us, the anger, the silence, all of it dissolved. There was only him, a father aching for his son.
He stepped forward, his voice breaking. “How is he?”
I swallowed hard, brushing my fingers across our son’s soft hair. “He’s… resting now. Fever is under control.”
Prashant exhaled shakily, his hand twitching as though fighting the urge to reach for him. F
And in that fragile moment, under the sterile lights of the hospital, I couldn’t tell if I wanted to cling to my resolve or let it shatter completely.
________