Chapter 30
Viya
Today was the day. The day I would have to stand in front of Judge Desai and tell her whether I was staying in my marriage or walking away from it forever.
I had barely slept the night before. Had lain awake beside Armaan, feeling the weight of his arm around me, listening to his steady breathing, trying to make sense of the thousand conflicting emotions warring inside my chest.
I loved him. That had never been in question, not really. Even in my anger, even in my hurt, even when I had been convinced I could never trust him again, I had loved him.
But was love enough? Could I truly forgive him for the lies, for the deception, for marrying me under false pretenses? Could I trust him not to hurt me again?
I did not know. And that uncertainty terrified me.
I got up before dawn, too restless to stay in bed. I dressed quietly in a simple salwar kameez, careful not to wake Armaan, though I caught him watching me through half-closed eyes as I moved around the room.
I needed to think. Needed guidance. Needed something to help me make this impossible decision.
So I made my way downstairs to Dadi's small temple room.
The house was still quiet, the early morning light just beginning to filter through the windows.
The temple was a small space off the main hallway, filled with idols and pictures of various deities, the smell of incense always lingering in the air.
I lit a diya with trembling hands and sat down on the floor. I closed my eyes and prayed.
Please, help me. Help me know what to do. Help me make the right decision for myself, for my baby, for my life.
I did not know how long I sat there, my hands folded, my mind reaching for answers that would not come. But after a while, I heard soft footsteps behind me.
I opened my eyes and turned to see Dadi standing in the doorway. She looked older somehow, frailer, her face lined with worry and guilt.
"Viya, beta," she said softly. "May I come in?"
I nodded, and she came to sit beside me on the floor. For a moment, we sat in silence, both of us staring at the flickering flame of the diya.
Then Dadi spoke, her voice heavy with emotion.
"I need to apologize to you, beta. I need you to know how sorry I am for what I did."
I looked at her, surprised.
"Dadi, you do not need to—"
"I do," she interrupted firmly. "I do need to. Because I am responsible for so much of your pain. I was the one who believed in that prophecy so blindly. I was the one who was so terrified of losing Armaan that I agreed to this terrible plan."
Tears were streaming down her face now.
"I almost blackmailed him, Viya. I used my health, my age, my love for him as weapons to convince him to marry you. I told him I would not survive if something happened to him. I made him feel like he had no choice."
She reached out and took my hand.
"I was so blind. So focused on my grandson's happiness, on keeping Avija safe, that I did not realize I was destroying your life. You were just a sweet, innocent girl who had already lost so much. And I helped turn you into a pawn in a cruel game."
"Dadi—"
"Whatever decision you make today," she continued, her grip on my hand tightening, "I am with you.
If you decide to leave, to divorce him, I will understand.
I will support you. You deserve happiness, beta.
Real happiness. And if you cannot find that with Armaan, then you should be free to find it elsewhere. "
She kissed my hand and then stood, leaving the temple without another word.
I sat there for a long time after she left, her words echoing in my mind. The guilt in her voice had been real. The love had been real too.
This family, broken and flawed as it was, had somehow become mine.
When I finally emerged from the temple, the house was waking up. I could hear movement in the kitchen, smell chai being prepared. I made my way to the dining room and found Armaan already there, sitting at the table with a cup of coffee in front of him that he was not drinking.
He looked up when I entered, and the vulnerability in his eyes made my heart clench.
"Good morning," he said quietly.
"Good morning."
Dadi and Papa joined us shortly after, and we all sat down for breakfast together. Mamta ji served fresh parathas and aloo sabzi, but I could barely taste anything. My stomach was in knots.
Armaan kept glancing at me throughout the meal, but he did not push for conversation. Did not ask me what I had decided. Just stayed close, a silent presence, waiting.
After breakfast, he stood and called out.
"Ramesh, please bring the car around. We need to leave for the courthouse."
The courthouse. Where I would have to make my decision. Where I would have to stand in front of that judge and declare whether my marriage would continue or end.
I stood slowly, my hand automatically going to my very swollen belly. The baby had been active all morning, as though sensing my anxiety.
I was standing in the living room, trying to gather the courage to walk out that door, when suddenly everything changed.
Pain. Sharp and sudden and overwhelming, radiating from my stomach through my entire body.
I gasped and doubled over, one hand clutching my belly, the other reaching out blindly for support.
"Armaan!" His name came out as a scream, raw with fear and pain.
I heard running footsteps. Then his arms were around me, supporting me, holding me up.
"Viya! What is wrong? What is happening?"
"I think... I think I am in labor," I managed to say between gasps. "But it is too early. It is only eight months. The baby cannot—"
I did not get to finish the sentence. Another contraction hit, worse than the first, and I cried out.
Armaan did not hesitate. He scooped me up into his arms as though I weighed nothing, his face pale but determined.
"Ramesh! Hospital! Now!"
He carried me to the car and placed me carefully in the back seat, climbing in beside me and cradling me against his chest. Ramesh got behind the wheel and drove faster than I had ever seen him drive.
"It is going to be okay," Armaan kept saying, over and over, his lips pressed to my hair. "You are going to be okay. The baby is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay."
But his hands were shaking. And I could hear the fear beneath his words.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of pain and panic. I could hear Armaan on the phone, calling ahead, demanding they have a team ready. Could feel his arms tight around me, keeping me safe even as my body tried to tear itself apart.
When we arrived, there were doctors and nurses waiting. Someone brought a wheelchair, but Armaan refused to let me go. He carried me inside himself, following the medical team to an examination room.
They made him set me down on the bed, and then there were hands everywhere. Checking vitals, hooking up monitors, asking questions I could barely process.
"It is premature labor," I heard someone say. "Get her to delivery. Now."
Everything moved very fast after that. I was being wheeled down hallways, bright lights flashing overhead. Armaan was beside me the whole time, his hand gripping mine so tight it almost hurt.
I saw Dadi and Papa arrive, their faces stricken with worry. Saw Armaan speak to them briefly before returning to my side.
Then we were in the delivery room, and a doctor was explaining something to us, and my mind was having trouble keeping up because the pain was so intense and I was so scared.
"This is a critical case," the doctor was saying. Her voice was calm but serious. "The baby is premature. There are complications. We may not be able to save both mother and child."
The words hit me like ice water.
"What?" I managed to gasp out.
The doctor looked between Armaan and me.
"We need to know. If we have to make a choice, who do we save? The mother or the baby?"
I did not even have to think about it.
"The baby," I said immediately. "Save my baby."
"No."
Armaan's voice was hard as steel. Final. Brooking no argument.
"Save my wife."
"Armaan, no! You cannot—"
"Save. My. Wife." He looked at the doctor with an intensity that was almost frightening. "I do not care what you have to do. You save her. Do you understand me?"
"Armaan, please," I begged, tears streaming down my face. "Please. Our baby—"
He turned to me, and the look in his eyes made my breath catch. There was love there. Fierce, protective, all consuming love. But there was also fear. Raw terror at the thought of losing me.
"I cannot lose you, Viya," he said, his voice breaking. "I cannot. If I have to choose, I choose you. Every time. Always."
He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs wiping away my tears.
"Do you understand? You are everything to me. You are my life. I will not sacrifice you. I will not."
And in that moment, looking into his eyes, seeing the absolute conviction there, something inside me shifted.
This was not obligation. This was not guilt. This was not a man trying to do the right thing.
This was a man who loved me more than anything in the world. Who would choose me over everything else. Who meant every word he had said over the past six months.
I could trust him. I could trust this. I could trust us.
"Okay," I whispered. "Okay."
Someone was putting a mask over my face. I heard the doctor giving orders. Felt Armaan's lips press against my forehead one last time.
"I love you," he said. "Come back to me."
Then everything went dark.
◆◆◆
I woke slowly, fighting my way up through layers of fog and confusion. My body felt heavy and strange. There was a dull ache in my abdomen.
But I was alive.
I forced my eyes open, blinking against the bright lights. I was in a hospital room. Clean white walls. The steady beep of monitors. The smell of antiseptic.
And Armaan.
He was sitting in a chair beside my bed, still in the same clothes he had been wearing that morning, now rumpled and stained. His hair was disheveled, as though he had been running his hands through it repeatedly. His eyes were red rimmed.
But he was smiling. Tears were streaming down his face, but he was smiling.
Our hands were clasped together, his grip tight and warm.
I tried to speak, but my throat was too dry. So I just looked at him, asking the question with my eyes.
The baby. What about our baby?
His smile grew wider, and more tears fell.
"She is safe," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Our daughter is safe. She is in the NICU because she is premature, but the doctors say she is strong. She is going to be okay."
Daughter. We had a daughter.
Relief and joy and overwhelming love crashed over me all at once. I tried to sit up, needing to see her, to hold her.
"Wait, wait," Armaan said, gently pushing me back down. "You need to rest. You just came out of surgery. The doctor said—"
But I did not care what the doctor said. I reached for him, pulling him toward me with more strength than I thought I had.
He came willingly, leaning over the bed, wrapping his arms carefully around me.
I kissed him. Poured everything I felt into that kiss. Love and gratitude and forgiveness and promise.
When we finally pulled apart, both of us were crying.
"This is the best day of my life," I whispered against his lips.
The door opened, and Dadi and Papa hurried in, their faces lighting up when they saw I was awake.
"Viya, beta! Thank god. Thank god you are alright."
They came to the bedside, Dadi taking my hand, Papa standing behind Armaan with his hand on his son's shoulder.
"The baby?" I asked.
"She is beautiful," Dadi said, tears streaming down her face. "So tiny but so perfect. She is in intensive care because she is premature, but the doctors are very optimistic."
A daughter. I had a daughter. Armaan and I had created a life together, and she was here, and she was safe.
There was another knock at the door, and Aryan entered, followed by two other people in business suits. It took me a moment to recognize them. Mr. Sharma, my lawyer. And Armaan's lawyer.
Oh. The court date. We were supposed to be at the courthouse right now.
Mr. Sharma approached the bed carefully.
"Mrs. Khanna, I am so glad to see you are alright. We heard about what happened. The court has been informed, and Judge Desai has postponed the hearing. She said to take all the time you need to recover, and we can reschedule whenever you are ready."
I looked at Armaan, at his hopeful, anxious expression. At Dadi and Papa watching me with concern and love. At this family that had become mine despite everything.
Then I looked back at Mr. Sharma.
"I do not need another date," I said clearly. "I am taking back the divorce petition. I want to stay with my husband."
The room erupted. Dadi let out a cry of joy. Papa was hugging Armaan. Aryan was grinning.
But I only had eyes for Armaan. For the expression of pure, overwhelming relief and happiness on his face.
He kissed me again, soft and reverent.
"Thank you," he whispered. "Thank you for giving me another chance. For trusting me. For choosing us."
"Always," I whispered back. "I choose us. Always."
There was more commotion at the door. Someone else wanting to come in. Armaan straightened and looked toward the entrance.
"It is your uncle," he said quietly. "Vinay uncle. He has been here since we arrived. Waiting. Do you want to see him?"
I hesitated only a moment. Then nodded.
"Yes. Ask him to come in."
Uncle Vinay entered slowly, his face haggard with worry and guilt. He looked like he had aged years in the past few months.
"Viya, beta," he started, his voice breaking. "I am so sorry. For everything. I know I do not deserve your forgiveness. I know what I did was unforgivable. But please know that I—"
"Uncle," I interrupted gently. "Stop."
He looked at me with such despair that my heart ached for him.
"Yes, you made a wrong decision. Yes, you lied to me, manipulated me, used me. That hurt more than you can know."
He nodded, tears streaming down his face.
"But that one wrong decision gave me the love of my life. It gave me Armaan. It gave me this family. It gave me my daughter. So how can I hold onto grudges when I have been given so much?"
"Viya—"
"I forgive you, Uncle. Completely. And I hope that one day, you can forgive yourself."
He broke down completely then, sobbing. Armaan stood and guided him to a chair, letting him cry.
I looked around the hospital room at all these people. Dadi and Papa. Aryan. Uncle Vinay. Armaan standing beside my bed, his hand in mine.
My family. Flawed and complicated and imperfect. But mine.
I had started this journey thinking I was alone in the world. An orphan with no one who truly loved her. No place where she truly belonged.
But I had been wrong.
I had found my home. Not in a place, but in people. In love and forgiveness and second chances.
I had found my family. Finally and completely.
And I was happy. Truly, deeply happy.
Content in a way I had never been before.
This was where I belonged. This was where I was meant to be.
With my husband. With my daughter. With this beautiful, messy, wonderful family.
Home.