⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟖˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆
It was close to midnight. The room felt colder than usual, or maybe it was just the emptiness that clung to me like a shadow. Tara's tiny whimpers had turned into restless cries now. She was hungry. My poor baby hadn't eaten anything since evening—except the one time I had managed to feed her milk.
No one had come. Not once. Not even Vidyut.
The same Vidyut who never let Tara out of his sight, who called her his princess, his kitten.
Tonight, he didn't even bother to check whether his kitten had eaten or not.
A sharp ache pressed against my chest at the thought.
If he could so easily forget her, then what did I even expect for myself?
Tara's cries grew louder, piercing my already fraying nerves. I pressed her against me, whispering, "Shhh, bas baby... Mama hai na... ."
[Shhh, it's okay baby... Mama is here....]
I didn't want to step out. I didn't want to face them. The weight of today's accusations was still burning on my skin. But Tara's hunger... it was stronger than my fear.
So, I wrapped her in a blanket, left her asleep for a moment, and tiptoed out of the room. The whole house was silent. A suffocating silence. It was as if everyone had locked me out of their world.
My feet carried me toward the kitchen. A small part of me hoped—maybe someone had left dinner on the counter for us. Maybe someone had thought of Tara, if not me. But when I opened the fridge, the shelves stared back at me... empty. Not a single leftover. Nothing.
My throat burned. They had eaten. They had fed themselves. And they hadn't spared a single thought for a two-year-old child.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I put a pan of milk on the stove, and with trembling fingers, started kneading dough. My palms ached, but it was all I could do—for her. If nothing else, at least she would have a paratha to fill her stomach.
The silence of the kitchen was broken by the sound of water filling a jug. I froze. Manisha maa had walked in. For a second, my heart dared to hope—maybe she would speak to me. Maybe she would at least ask about Tara.
But she didn't even look at me. Not once. She filled her jug, turned around, and walked away as if I wasn't even standing there.
The sound of her footsteps faded into the dark hallway, leaving me staring at the dough in my hands with blurred eyes.
Ignored. Invisible. Unwanted.
I bit my lip hard to stop the sob that threatened to escape, but a tear still slid down my cheek, falling right into the flour.
Maybe this is what I truly am... a curse. Maa was right, wasn't she? Wherever I go, problems follow. Maybe it's me who poisons everything.
If I hadn't stepped into this house, maybe Tara wouldn't have cried like this, hungry and ignored. Maybe Vidyut wouldn't have turned his face away, maybe Manisha maa wouldn't have to look at me with that silent disgust. Maybe this family would still be whole—unbroken—without me.
I thought I was giving Tara a mother, but maybe all I've given her is more tears. What kind of mumma can't even feed her child properly? She's just two... my little baby. And today she's suffering because of me.
A lump formed in my throat, suffocating. Every word Maa ever spat at me—bad omen, burden, mistake—echoed louder in this empty house. Maybe they all see me the same way too. Maybe they've realised what my own family already knew—that Ritvika brings only misfortune.
And the worst part? I'm starting to believe it too.
After putting Tara to sleep, I finally allowed myself to sit down on the bed. My chest felt heavy, every breath weighed down by guilt. Just then, my phone vibrated. I glanced at the screen—Roohi.
Her fingers trembled as she picked it up. For a second, she debated ignoring it, but then she pressed accept.
"Hello, Ritu?" Roohi's voice carried that familiar warmth. "I just thought to check on you... you're not crying again, are you?"
Ritvika swallowed, hesitating. "No... I'm okay now. I... I fed Tara and put her to sleep."
There was silence on the other end for a moment, then Roohi's tone sharpened. "Wait—now? You fed her this late? Ritu, are you even taking care of yourself and that child properly?"
Her heart sank. "I... I try, Roohi. I do what I can. But everything goes wrong because of me. Maybe Ma was right... maybe I really am a bad omen. Every problem comes because of me—"
"Stop it, Ritvika!" Roohi cut in, her voice laced with anger. "I will not listen to this self-pity. Do you even hear yourself? You're talking like you don't matter. Like Tara doesn't matter. But she does. And so do you."
Tears blurred Ritvika's eyes. "But what if I ruin her life too? What if my bad luck touches her—"
"Enough!" Roohi's tone cracked through like lightning. "Tara is your child. Your child. Don't you dare separate yourself from her with words like 'bad omen' or 'bad luck.' She's breathing because of you, she's safe because of you, and she will grow because of you. Don't ever forget that."
Her voice softened then, though her words still held firmness.
"And remember one thing, Ritu. Don't let the Rajvansh family anywhere near her.
Keep Tara distant from them. They might be powerful, but power doesn't always protect—it destroys.
If they can hurt you, they can hurt her too. Do you want that?"
Ritvika froze. Roohi's words stung, but they also lodged deep inside her heart. She had never thought of it like that... if they could break her so easily, what would happen if Tara became part of their world?
A shiver ran through her as her gaze fell on Tara's sleeping face. For the first time, the thought of protecting her—not just loving her—overwhelmed her completely.
"Ritu," Roohi's voice softened again, "you're stronger than you think. Value yourself. Value Tara. And never, ever let anyone make you feel like you're less. You're a mother now. You don't get to fall apart."
Ritvika held the phone tighter, her heart heavy yet strangely steady. "You're right, Roohi..." she whispered, almost to herself. "I... I can't let them touch my Tara."
The call ended, but Roohi's words refused to leave my mind. I sat there quietly, staring at the darkened screen of my phone, my thoughts running faster than my breath. She's right... she's absolutely right.
Today, I saw it clearly—how Manisha Maa, who once so proudly called Tara humari beti (our daughter), had instead said apni beti (your daughter). The shift in her tone still echoed in my ears like a slap.
And Vidyut... not even once did his eyes fall on Tara. Not even for a fleeting second. The same man who could fill the entire room with his presence behaved as if my little girl didn't even exist.
A tight lump formed in my throat. Roohi was right—I couldn't let this continue. I couldn't allow Tara to face the same coldness, the same rejection that I had been buried under all my life. She deserved love, not indifference.
No... no one will hurt my Tara. Not in front of me. Not while I'm alive.
Holding onto that single thought, I pulled the blanket around myself and lay down beside my sleeping daughter. I kissed her soft forehead and whispered, "Meri jaan, Mumma won't let anything happen to you."
(My love, Mama won't let anything happen to you.)
With that resolve burning inside me, my tired eyes finally shut. Sleep came slowly, but this time it wasn't from helplessness—it was from a promise.
The next morning, I opened my eyes to find the space beside me empty. Vidyut wasn't there. At least I didn't have to face him right now.
Quietly, I slipped into the washroom and freshened up. Draping myself in a simple Punjabi suit, I dressed Tara too, tying her little hair in two tiny ponytails. She giggled when I kissed her cheek, and for a moment, her innocence felt like a shield around me.
After pacing the room for some time, I finally decided to step out. I couldn't keep hiding inside these four walls. But as soon as I entered the dining room, I felt my chest tighten.
Everyone was already seated at the breakfast table, laughing, talking, eating—like I wasn't even needed there. Aarush and Hridhaan were also home after two days, while Chacha ji and Papa were still away. No one even noticed me at first.
I was about to turn back quietly when a voice stopped me.
My gaze immediately flickered to Manisha. She had actually told him that? My heart twisted at the disbelief and helplessness that washed over me.
I just stood frozen, not knowing what to do.
Hesitating, I forced myself to move forward, holding Tara's little hand tightly. But just as I was about to sit down, Viyana's voice cut through.
My feet halted mid-step. The image of Roohi's early morning message flashed in my head: "Ritu, please keep your distance from Viyana too. Don't trust easily."
I forced a small smile and shook my head quickly.
"No, I'm fine here," I replied, lowering myself onto the chair next to Aarush instead.
But deep inside, I couldn't shake off the unease. Every word Roohi said... every warning... was beginning to make too much sense.
I sat on the chair as Aarush passed me a plate and served breakfast.
For a moment, I wondered—Aarush wasn't home for the last two days.
He didn't know what happened here. If he had known, maybe he would've thought of me the same way Maa does.
.. maybe he would've also taken their side. Maybe he would also not treat me well.
As I was eating quietly, my eyes drifted toward the main door—and froze.
A creature walked in. Vidyut.
He didn't look fresh. His face was dull, eyes heavy, like he hadn't slept at all. But why do I care? No, Ritvika. You should not. Remember Roohi's words...
I told myself again and again, trying to ignore him.
But then I felt him walking closer, his presence suffocating. My breath hitched the moment he reached us. He bent slightly, almost about to take Tara in his arms—my Tara, sitting on my lap.
But I didn't let him.
I tightened my hold, grabbing my daughter, pulling her closer. No... I will not let them come near my daughter. What if they hurt her too?
I saw Vidyut's face twist in confusion, his brows narrowing. But I ignored him, my hand trembling as I started feeding my baby again, not sparing him a glance.
And then-
I froze, my spoon mid-air. Every nerve in my body screamed no. Hugging Tara tighter against my chest, I didn't even look at him. Instead, I forced a smile down at her, bringing the spoon close to her lips.
(No... I'm feeding her.)
My voice was steady, but my hands trembled.
I could feel his gaze burning into me, heavy, questioning, almost demanding.
The entire dining table had gone silent.
I didn't have to look up to know that everyone was watching—Aarush shifting uneasily beside me, Hridhaan glancing between us, and Manisha's sharp eyes fixed on me with that unreadable judgment she always carried.
Tara, innocent of the storm, opened her little mouth for the next bite. I quickly fed her, hiding my own trembling breath.
Vidyut stepped closer, his presence looming right behind me. My heartbeat thudded painfully.
I shook my head, clutching Tara as if my life depended on it.
"No."
Just that one word left my lips, but it felt like an explosion inside me. The refusal hung in the air, and I could sense the shock ripple through everyone. No one ever said no to Vidyut Rajvansh. Not like this. Not in front of others.
I didn't dare look up at him. My chest was heaving, Tara's soft weight grounding me, my knuckles white from gripping her so tightly. All I could think about were Roohi's words, echoing in my head: Keep your distance, Ritu. Don't trust him. Don't trust anyone here.
For the first time since yesterday... I acted on those words.
And now... I didn't know what storm I had just invited upon myself.
Vidyut's jaw clenched as Ritvika's one-word refusal still echoed in the heavy silence of the dining hall. His fists curled by his side, and when she didn't even look up, something inside him snapped.
"Why?" his voice thundered now, reverberating through the room. "Why are you not giving her to me, Ritvika?"
Still holding Tara close, Ritvika finally lifted her head, her teary eyes shining with a fire no one had ever seen in her before.
"Because I won't give my daughter to anyone!" she burst out, her voice trembling but unyielding.
The table went utterly still. Even Tara startled, burying her tiny face against Ritvika's dupatta.
Vidyut's brows shot up, his shock quickly twisting into anger. He took a step closer, his voice sharp, louder.
"She is my daughter too!"
That was it. Ritvika shot up from her seat, hugging Tara to her chest, her body shaking but her voice loud enough to shake the walls.
"Noooooo! She is my daughter only! Just mine!"
The words tore out of her like a storm, raw and blazing. For a heartbeat, Vidyut actually froze—staring at her, startled, as if he didn't recognize this woman standing in front of him.
But quickly, he regained himself, his tone dropping into disbelief, frustration.
"Are you out of your mind, Ritvika?"
Her laugh was hollow, broken, bitter. "Yes! I'm out of my mind! What will you do now, haan?" she snapped, tears pooling but fury blazing in her eyes. "And remember one thing—Tara is just mine. Only mine. Not yours. Not your family's."
Vidyut looked at her like she had just ripped the ground from beneath his feet. "What nonsense are you saying?"
"Nonsense?" Ritvika's voice cracked, her anger spilling into anguish as she turned toward Manisha. "Oh... why am I saying this? Didn't you hear Maa yesterday? When she clearly said—'apni beti'—not 'humari beti'. That one moment was enough to tell me. Tara is mine. Just mine."
Her gaze swung back to Vidyut, sharp and accusing. "At that time, your tongue was tied, wasn't it, Vidyut? You said nothing. So now, keep your mouth shut again and listen carefully—Tara belongs to me. Only me. Just like you swallowed silence then, swallow it now too."
The hall rang with her words, every syllable laced with fire and hurt. Manisha's lips parted in faint shock, Aarush and Hridhaan stared wide-eyed, and Vidyut stood frozen, his breath harsh, his face shadowed with emotions no one could name.
And Ritvika... she held Tara closer, her heart racing, tears burning her eyes, but for the first time—she had spoken her truth, loud enough for them all to hear.
Vidyut's jaw tightened as he finally lost patience. His voice thundered across the room—
"Toh tum apni galti nahi maano gi? Kal tumne kiya kya tha?"
(So you won't accept your mistake? What you did yesterday?)
Ritvika let out a dry, bitter laugh, her lips curling with sarcasm.
"Meri galti? Arre jab galti hogi tab maanoongi na! Jab main hi fault par nahi hoon toh kyun accept karun?"
(My mistake? I'll admit when I'm wrong! But when I'm not at fault, why should I accept it?)
Vidyut's eyes flared. His voice rose a pitch higher.
"Ritvika, you are crossing your limits now! Viyana was about to fall because of your carelessness!"
Her eyes blazed with fury as she snapped back, her tone cutting through the air like a whip—
"Oh Mister, woh mere wajah se girne wali thi? Apni behen se bhi toh puchho kuch, haa?"
(Oh Mister, she was about to fall because of me? Why don't you ask your sister too, huh?)
Ritvika spun towards Viyana, her chest heaving with anger. She clutched her arm tightly and shouted—
"Why are you not speaking anything, haan? Dahi kyun jamai hai zubaan par? Bolo na! Kaise tumhe hi upar jaana tha because you were bored! Batati kyun nahi sabko ki kasam khayi hai tumne Ritvika ko har cheez mein bali ka bakra banane ki, haan? Bolti kyun nahi ho tum!"
(Why aren't you saying anything, huh? Why is your tongue tied? Tell them! Weren't you the one who wanted to go upstairs because you were bored? Why don't you tell everyone that you've taken an oath to always make Ritvika the scapegoat?)
Her voice cracked as she shook Viyana's arm in rage.
At that very moment, Atharv rushed forward, pulling Viyana out of Ritvika's grip. His voice was firm, almost protective—
"Bhabhi! Kya kar rahi ho aap?!"
(Bhabhi! What are you doing?!)
Ritvika's furious gaze snapped towards him. Her words sliced like glass—
"Atharv! Tumne toh badi jaldi mujhe doshi thehra diya! Agar itni hi kharab hoon main... toh apni biwi ko chhodkar kyu Gaye the mere paas?!"
(Atharv! You were so quick to declare me guilty! If I'm really that bad... then why did you leave your wife with me in the first place?!)
Ritvika's chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath shaky as she finally snapped—her voice trembling at first, then growing louder, breaking with tears.
"Agar itni hi care karte apni biwi ki toh yeh sab hota hi nahi, thik hai!"
[If you cared so much for your wife, then all this wouldn't have happened, okay!]
Her voice cracked but she pushed on, tears blurring her vision. "Aur zyada mere upar toh dosh thahrane ki zarurat nahi hai! Kab se sun rahi hoon sabki... sab log mujh par hi kuch na kuch bolte jaa rahe hain, jaise sab galti meri hi ho!"
[And stop putting all the blame on me! I've been listening to everyone since so long... everyone keeps saying something to me, as if all the fault is only mine!]
Her fingers curled into fists. "Haan, thik hai, I made the cake. But was it my fault that I added pineapples? Haan? Tumne kya kabhi mujhe bataya tha ki tumhari biwi ko allergy hai pineapple se?"
[Yes fine, I made the cake. But was it my fault that I added pineapples? Did you ever tell me that your wife is allergic to them?]
Manisha tried to interject, her voice rising, "We didn't know you were making a fruit cake, okay—"
But Ritvika cut her off, her tears streaming freely now, words tumbling out in anger and hurt.
"Accha maa, theek hai! Aapko nahi pata tha ki mai fruit cake bana rahi thi.
Par jab maine cake nikala, tab toh sabne dekha tha na?
Sabne dekha tha ki woh fruit cake hai. Tab toh koi bata sakta tha na ki pineapple bhi hai kya usme!
Koi bolta, ek shabd hi bol deta, toh mai hata deti.
.. par nahi! Yahaan par koi apni galti maanne ke liye tayyar hi nahi hai! "
[Fine Maa, okay! You didn't know I was making a fruit cake.
But when I brought it out, everyone saw it, didn't they?
Everyone saw it was a fruit cake. At that time, someone could've said something, at least asked if there was pineapple!
If anyone had said even one word, I would've removed it.
.. but no! Here, nobody is ready to admit their fault! ]
Her voice cracked deeply now, a sob choking her throat, yet she forced herself to continue, her eyes blazing with pain.
"Sabne jaise zimmedaari li hai mujhe blame karne ki!
Jaise bas mujhe hi guilty sabit karna hai!
Maine ab tak kuch nahi bola because I thought.
.. haan, shayad meri hi galti thi... but ab mujhe samajh aa gaya hai ki main kisi bhi fault mein ho hi nahi! "
[It's like everyone has taken the responsibility to blame me! Like I alone have to be proven guilty! I didn't say anything until now because I thought... maybe it really was my mistake... but now I've realized I am not at fault at all!]
Her whole body shook as her voice turned hoarse with emotion. "Upar jaana tha tumhari biwi ko... pair uska fisal gaya... maine thodi use dhakka de diya tha?!! Jo sab log mujhe criminal bana rahe hain jaise maine jaan bujhkar uske saath kuch kar diya ho!"
[It was your wife who had to go upstairs... her foot slipped... did I push her?! Yet everyone is making me out to be a criminal, as if I intentionally did something to her!]
By now tears were rolling uncontrollably down her cheeks, her throat raw, her shoulders trembling with every breath. "Bas... ab aur nahi sun paungi main! Main thak gayi hoon har ek ilzaam apne sar pe lene se... thak gayi hoon akele sabki baatein sehne se!"
[That's it... I can't hear anymore! I'm tired of taking every blame on my head... I'm tired of bearing everyone's words alone!]
She stood there, chest heaving, her voice echoing in the silence she left behind—raw, broken, yet piercing everyone's conscience like a blade.
Ritvika's breath hitched as she stumbled back, her chest rising and falling unevenly, the weight of her emotions pressing harder than her illness itself. Her dupatta slipped slightly off her shoulder as her trembling hands tried to wipe her tears, but they wouldn't stop.
Vidyut took a cautious step forward, his jaw clenched, eyes darting over her pale face and the way she was swaying on her feet. He had seen her like this only once before—helpless, vulnerable—but today it was breaking something in him to watch.
"Ritvika..." his voice was low, almost careful, like he feared she might shatter if he spoke too loud.
But she snapped her head up, her tear-streaked face blazing with hurt. "Don't come near me!" her voice cracked, trembling with rage and despair. "Just... don't!"
The command froze him in place. He wanted to reach out, to steady her when her knees buckled for a moment, but the wall she had built between them was higher than his will.
Her breaths came harsher, shallow and uneven, her hand instinctively clutching at her chest as if trying to hold her pounding heart in place. The room had gone so quiet that the sound of her sobbing echoed against the walls, slicing through the tense silence.
Tara, who had been clutching Ritvika's suit tightly, whimpered, sensing the storm around her. Ritvika instantly bent, scooping the little girl in her arms protectively, as though shielding her from everyone in the room.
Without sparing another glance at Vidyut, she turned and half-ran, half-stumbled toward the corridor, clutching Tara as if the child were her only anchor in that moment.
Her footsteps echoed as the dupatta trailed behind her, her voice breaking one last time as she cried, "Just leave me alone!" before she disappeared into the room, slamming the door shut.
Vidyut stood frozen, fists clenched at his sides, the sound of the door reverberating through him like a final verdict.
Ritvika's breaths were ragged as she stumbled into the room on the ground floor, Tara's little arms still clinging tightly around her neck.
The moment she placed Tara safely on the bed, something inside her snapped.
Her trembling fingers reached for the nearest vase, and before she realized it, it was already shattered against the wall.
Glass, wood, porcelain—one after another, her hands hurled whatever they could reach.
A photo frame crashed to the floor, scattering fragments across the carpet.
The table lamp followed, the bulb exploding with a sharp crack.
Her bangles jingled furiously with every motion, her dupatta whipping around her as if even the fabric mirrored her storm.
Her chest heaved, her heart straining under the weight of her condition, but the fire in her eyes outshone the pain.
And then—
The door creaked open.
Vidyut stood there, frozen in the doorway. His towering frame was still, but his eyes weren't. They darted over the wreckage, then landed on Ritvika—her trembling shoulders, her tear-streaked face, her clenched fists, her body swaying between fury and collapse.
"Ritvika..." His voice was low, almost uncertain, a strange edge of restraint lacing through his usual authority.
She whipped around, her eyes blazing, her breaths unsteady. Her chest rose and fell in sharp jerks, but her hands refused to stop clutching the broken frame she hadn't yet dropped.
The silence between them was louder than the crash of anything she had broken.
Vidyut stepped forward, his jaw tightening as he saw Ritvika snatch another photo frame from the shelf.
"Stop, Ritvika!" he said sharply, reaching out to grab her wrist. But she jerked away violently, the frame slipping from her hand and shattering into shards at their feet.
Her eyes were wild, her chest rising and falling as if every breath was choking her alive.
"Ritvika—" he tried again, his tone lowering, almost warning. His hand moved forward, attempting to still her trembling shoulders, but she shoved him away, stumbling back toward the table where the flower vase had already fallen.
Another crash echoed through the room.
And then—her voice ripped through the silence.
(Whoever I see—everyone keeps taunting me! Am I not human?)
Her pitch soared higher, raw, trembling, her throat almost tearing with the scream.
Her lips shook violently, words tumbling out between sobs and fury.
Her fists clenched at her sides, her body trembling so hard she looked seconds away from collapsing, yet the rage kept her standing, throwing, breaking, fighting against every wall that suffocated her.
Vidyut's breath hitched—not out of fear of the destruction, but at the way her voice cracked, at the sheer rawness of her pain spilling into the room like blood from an open wound.
He stepped closer again, cautiously, but her glare stopped him mid-step.
Vidyut's patience finally snapped
his grip closing firmly around Ritvika's wrists as she tried to hurl yet another vase to the floor. His voice was deep, sharp, almost a growl—
"Stop it, Ritvika! Bas karo!"
She struggled violently in his hold, thrashing like a caged bird desperate to escape.
Her hair had loosened, strands falling over her tear-streaked face, her breaths coming in ragged, painful gasps.
Vidyut's arms tightened around her, dragging her against his chest, trying to stop the destruction, but she writhed harder, her sobs rising into a hysterical wail.
"Chhodo mujhe! Don't touch me! Leave me!" she screamed, twisting in his hold, her nails clawing at his shirt, her body trembling.
His jaw clenched, anger mixing with a helpless fear he didn't even recognize in himself. His eyes flicked toward the corner—Tara stood there, clutching her stuffed toy, wide-eyed, her tiny lips quivering, confusion and fright flooding her innocent face.
"Ritvika, bas karo... Tara is here! She's getting scared—samajh rahi ho tum? LOOK at her!" Vidyut's voice cracked in a way he never allowed, desperation seeping through.
Vidyut's grip tightened around her wrists, trying to stop her from hurting herself further, but his own breath faltered when he heard her scream rip through the air.
Her body shook violently in his hold, hair falling over her tear-streaked face as she thrashed against him, voice breaking in raw hysteria—
The words echoed off the walls, louder than the sound of breaking glass.
Vidyut Rajvansh froze. His chest felt like it had been struck with a hammer, his veins going cold as he stood there... holding her, yet utterly powerless.
His brows furrowed sharply, confusion clouding his usually unreadable eyes. What the hell had she just said?
For a long moment, all he could hear was her trembling sobs and Tara's muffled whimper from the corner of the room.
Then his voice cut through, low but edged with steel, cold and sharp like a blade—
His jaw clenched, the muscles in his arms going taut as he forced her to look at him.
His tone wasn't soothing, it wasn't soft. It was razor-sharp, heavy with the weight of an anger he himself didn't yet understand.
And Ritvika—broken, trembling in his hold—looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes... caught between the terror of her past and the fury burning in his.
.......................................................................................................................