Chapter 22
Shaurya
I wake just as the sun begins to rise, with Reeva still curled against my chest and one of her legs tangled between mine.
For several seconds, I don’t move. I barely breathe. Her cheek rests over my heart, one hand loosely gripping the front of my T-shirt while my arm remains wrapped around her waist. Her face is peaceful in sleep.
God, how I have missed this.
Lowering my face, I breathe in the soft fragrance of her hair before pressing a tender kiss to her forehead.
Reeva shifts with a quiet sigh and moves closer. Her fingers tighten briefly around my shirt, and something inside me aches so fiercely that I have to close my eyes.
She called me last night. She reached for me when she was in pain, allowed me to stay, and finally asked me to hold her. Those small moments of vulnerability are more precious to me than she could ever understand.
Soon, her breathing changes. Her lashes flutter, and her eyes slowly open. She lifts her head from my chest and looks at me, embarrassment flickering across her face.
“Good morning,” I murmur, smiling down at her.
“Morning.” Her voice is rough with sleep.
A faint flush spreads across her cheeks as she untangles her legs from mine, and I force myself not to react to the sudden absence of her warmth.
“How does your leg feel?”
She shifts away and pushes herself upright. “Better. Which means we can skip the doctor.”
“We are still seeing the doctor.” I sit up beside her. “You agreed last night.”
Her eyes narrow. “You do realise you’re behaving like a paranoid psychopath.”
The smallest smile tugs at my lips. “I’m not taking any chances with you or the baby. If the doctor confirms that everything is fine, I’ll try to worry less.”
“You won’t.”
“No,” I concede. “But I may hide it better.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” Reeva shakes her head before sliding out of bed.
I rise as well. “Thank you for letting me stay last night.”
She turns towards me, her gaze flickering briefly to the side of the bed where I slept before returning to my face.
“Last night doesn’t change anything,” she says softly.
I nod. “I know.”
I know better than to read forgiveness into the way she slept in my arms. Still, after so many nights of missing her, being the one she turned to for comfort gives me a hope I’m almost afraid to hold on to.
“I’ll meet you downstairs,” I tell her. “Take your time.”
As I move towards the door, her voice stops me.
“Shaurya?”
I glance back.
“Thank you,” she murmurs. “For coming when I called.”
Her words tighten my throat. “You never have to thank me for coming when you need me, Reeva.”
I leave before I say something that frightens her into regretting the admission.
By the time Reeva comes downstairs, I’ve taken a quick shower, changed into fresh clothes, and explained what happened to Meena Aunty.
I’ve also asked her not to call Rudra or tell him about last night.
Reeva would never forgive either of us if her brother abandoned his business trip because of a few leg cramps.
Meena Aunty fusses over her anyway, placing parathas, fruit, yoghurt, and a glass of milk in front of her.
“Aunty, I can’t possibly eat all of this.”
“You’re eating for two.”
“That doesn’t mean I suddenly have two stomachs.”
“Eat whatever you can,” I tell her, seated beside her.
She regards me suspiciously, clearly waiting for the suggestion to become an order.
I calmly unfold my napkin. “That was merely a suggestion.”
“A miraculous improvement,” she mutters.
Meena Aunty hides a smile as Reeva manages half a paratha and some fruit before declaring herself full. I don’t argue, although every protective instinct urges me to make her eat more.
Twenty minutes later, we are on our way to the clinic. The drive is quiet, with Reeva gazing out of the window while I concentrate on the road and try not to imagine everything that could be wrong.
At a traffic light, I glance towards her. “Do you think we’ll get to see the baby today?”
She turns to me. “Probably. I am due for a scan anyway, so we can ask the doctor.”
I nod. The light changes, but it takes the impatient blare of a horn behind us to make me move. The possibility of seeing our baby has distracted me enough to hold up traffic.
When we reach the clinic, I park near the entrance. Reeva accepts my hand as she steps out of the car, and we walk inside together.
The waiting room is softly lit in calming shades of cream and pale green. Photographs of newborns cover one wall, and while Reeva checks in at reception, I find myself drawn towards them.
One photograph shows a sleeping baby curled inside a knitted blanket, one tiny fist tucked beneath its chin. In a few months, our child will be that small, enough to fit inside my arms and somehow hold my entire world within their tiny hands.
“Shaurya?”
I turn to find Reeva watching me with one eyebrow raised.
“You were miles away,” she says.
“I was looking at the photographs.” I gesture towards the wall.
Her expression softens. “They’re sweet.”
“They’re alarmingly small.”
A laugh escapes her. “Babies usually are.”
“How do people hold them without breaking them?”
“You support the head. Stop being so freaking paranoid.”
“I’m serious, Reeva.” I glance back at the sleeping infant. “What if I do something wrong?”
“You’ll learn,” she assures me gently. “We both will.”
I nod, still far from reassured, just as a nurse calls Reeva’s name.
We follow her into an examination room, where she checks Reeva’s weight, temperature, pulse, and blood pressure.
“Is that low?” I ask.
“It’s within an acceptable range,” the nurse replies.
“Acceptable isn’t the same as normal.”
She gives me the patient smile of someone accustomed to anxious fathers. “The doctor will review all the readings with you.”
Reeva glances at me. “Please don’t interrogate the staff.”
“I asked one perfectly reasonable question,” I point out with a shrug.
Reeva shakes her head while the nurse bites back a smile.
Soon, we are shown into Dr. Kapoor’s office. She studies Reeva’s results before setting them aside and looking up at us.
“Everything appears stable,” she says. “Your blood pressure is slightly on the lower side, Reeva, but it remains within an acceptable range. Nothing here concerns me.”
“And the leg cramps?” I ask.
“They are fairly common during pregnancy, particularly at night,” Dr. Kapoor explains. “Make sure you remain hydrated, avoid sitting in one position for too long, and stretch your calf muscles gently before bed. A warm compress or light massage can also help.”
“The massage helped,” Reeva admits, glancing briefly towards me.
Dr. Kapoor nods. “Good. However, if the pain becomes persistent or you notice swelling, redness, or unusual warmth in one leg, call me immediately.”
“Is the baby safe?” I ask.
“There is nothing in Reeva’s readings to suggest otherwise.” A reassuring smile touches her lips. “She is due for her next scan, so we can perform it today and make certain your baby is developing as expected.”
Relief loosens my chest.
“Yes, please,” Reeva and I reply in unison.
Dr. Kapoor nods with a smile, and the nurse leads us into the adjoining ultrasound room. The lights are dimmer here, and a large monitor stands beside the examination bed.
Reeva lies back while the nurse adjusts a sheet over her legs. I take my place beside her and reach for her hand. When I smile down at her, she smiles back, the unexpected softness in her expression stealing my breath. For one suspended heartbeat, neither of us looks away.
Then we turn our attention to Dr. Kapoor.
She settles onto a stool on the opposite side of the bed and dims the lights further before squeezing gel onto Reeva’s stomach.
Reeva flinches at the cold, and my fingers tighten instinctively around hers as the doctor gently places the probe against her skin.
For several seconds, Dr. Kapoor remains silent as she moves the probe across Reeva’s stomach. Panic begins to crawl through me.
“Is everything all right?”
“Give me a moment, Mr. Rajvansh.” Her calm tone does little to settle me.
Beside me, Reeva squeezes my hand. I look down at her, and she gives me a reassuring nod. I don’t know whether she is comforting me or seeking comfort herself. Perhaps it is both.
Then the doctor’s voice draws our attention back to the monitor. “There we are.”
She adjusts the image, and a small form comes into focus on the screen.
My breath leaves me.
Our baby is no longer an indistinct spot. I can make out a head, a tiny body, and delicate arms and legs. As I stare, one of those impossibly small limbs moves.
“Is that—” My voice breaks before I can finish the question.
“Yes, that’s your baby,” Dr. Kapoor confirms, pointing towards the screen. “And your little one is moving.”
I swallow hard as our child moves again. A tiny, sudden motion that makes me tighten my hold on Reeva’s hand.
“The baby is measuring exactly as expected for this stage,” Dr. Kapoor continues. “Approximately ten weeks and five days.”
I cannot speak. I cannot even look away. My throat closes around an emotion dangerously close to a sob as I stare at the tiny life Reeva and I created.
“That flicker there is the heartbeat,” Dr. Kapoor explains. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes,” Reeva answers, nodding when I remain too overwhelmed to find my voice.
Dr. Kapoor presses a button, and a rapid, rhythmic sound fills the room. It is faster than I expected, like the frantic beating of tiny wings. Strong. Insistent. Alive.
My vision blurs as our baby’s heartbeat echoes around us. I blink hard, but a tear escapes anyway, sliding down my cheek before I can hide it.
For once, I don’t care.
“The heartbeat is strong, and the baby is developing exactly as expected,” Dr. Kapoor says. “Everything appears perfectly normal.”
I close my eyes briefly, struggling to contain the emotion overwhelming me.
When I open them again, Reeva is watching me instead of the monitor.
Tears shimmer in her eyes, and her expression is completely unguarded, filled with the same wonder, tenderness, and aching vulnerability that threaten to undo me.
Finally, Dr. Kapoor lifts the probe from Reeva’s stomach, and the rapid rhythm of our baby’s heartbeat fades from the room. The nurse wipes away the remaining gel before helping Reeva sit up and readjust her clothes.
While Dr. Kapoor completes the report, she reminds Reeva to continue taking her vitamins, stay hydrated, and avoid overexerting herself.
She also advises us to call immediately if the cramps return with greater intensity or are accompanied by swelling or bleeding.
I commit every word to memory despite her assurance that neither Reeva nor the baby is in any danger.
The nurse hands Reeva an envelope containing the report and several small ultrasound printouts. Reeva draws them out, studying the grainy images with a tenderness that transforms her entire face.
When we leave the clinic, my hand automatically settles against the small of Reeva’s back, guiding her through the crowded reception area.
We walk towards the car in silence. I open the passenger door and wait until she is comfortably settled before closing it gently and making my way around to the driver’s side.
For several moments after sliding behind the wheel, I don’t start the engine. Reeva silently holds out one of the ultrasound printouts towards me. I accept it, staring once more at the tiny figure captured within the grainy shadows.
Our baby.
“I am sorry,” she says quietly.
I turn towards her. “For what?”
“For hiding the pregnancy from you.” Her gaze falls to her clasped hands. “I still believe I had every right to leave our marriage. But seeing you in there, watching you hear the heartbeat for the first time…” She swallows painfully. “I understand now how much I would have taken from you.”
Her confession tightens something inside my chest, but I cannot allow her to carry the blame alone.
“I understand why you were afraid to tell me.” I lower the printout carefully to my lap.
“I proved every one of your fears right the moment I found out. I threatened you, tried to control you, and used our child as an excuse to take the divorce away from you.” Shame burns through me as I force myself to hold her gaze.
“I behaved exactly like the man you were terrified I would become.”
Her eyes slowly rise to mine, glistening with emotions neither of us seems ready to name.
“I won’t do that again,” I continue. “I will never threaten to take our baby away from you.”
“Even if I eventually choose the divorce?”
The question twists inside me like a blade, but I force myself to answer honestly.
“I am not ready to stop hoping you won’t.” My voice turns rough with everything I cannot bring myself to say. “But if that day comes, I will not use our child to punish you or force you to remain with me. We will find a way to raise our baby together, even if you can no longer bear to be my wife.”
Her eyes fill with tears as she gives me a small, unsteady nod.
I carefully return the ultrasound printout to her before starting the engine and pulling away from the clinic, carrying the fragile hope that perhaps today has given her one less reason to hate me.