71. The Way Back Home
One more chapter to go 3
Sometimes home isn't a place you return to, it's the warmth you find when your heart finally stops running.
We stood outside the door of Mumma's flat. My fingers tightened around the file she had handed me that day.
To be honest, I never had the courage to open it during the Last two days.
I just cried. There was this constant heaviness inside my chest, as if something was slowly eating me alive. I didn't even know what my crime was, yet guilt had settled inside me. The way she had thrown that file into my hands before walking away... I understood one thing that day.
Whatever pain I had carried for seven years was nothing compared to the truth waiting inside these papers.
So, gathering every ounce of courage I had left, I finally opened the file.
The very first document that slipped out was a hospital record.
Admission Report.
Miscarriage Report.
Discharge Summary.
My vision blurred the moment I read those words. A broken gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it.
It felt as if someone had driven a dagger straight through my heart. My hands started trembling so violently that I almost dropped the papers.
With shaking fingers, I pushed them aside and picked up the next document.
Adoption Papers.
The date printed on them was from seven years ago.
The child's name...Mysha. Now Mysha Arora.
I stared at it for what felt like forever. So she was right. She had miscarriage. And she had adopted her.
The next few papers were the divorce documents. Every page carried the same reason.
Adultery.
Extramarital affair. Exactly what she had said. Every single word.
My throat felt as if it had been filled with thorns. I couldn't even swallow. I felt filthy. Not because of what she had done.
Because of what I had believed or what I had said.
I believed Dad. I defended him in my heart for seven years. I missed him. I waited for him. While he had forgotten me long before I ever lost him.
Inside the file was another small transparent zip-lock pouch.
A pen drive. I knew what it probably contained.
The evidence she had collected to prove my innocence. With trembling hands, I connected it to my laptop.
One by one, the videos started playing where I was delivering packets exactly where my so-called friends told me to.
Then another clip.
The same packets being handed over to another man. Then another. That man passing them to someone else.
The entire chain.
Every single piece proved I was nothing more than a puppet.nA carrier used by people I once called friends. At one point, I slammed the laptop shut.
I couldn't watch anymore.
My stomach churned. I felt sick. So disgusted with myself that I wanted to rip my own skin off.
How could I be so blind? So stupid? So easy to manipulate?
Tears blurred my vision again. Not because I was innocent.
But because the woman I had spent seven years hating...Had spent that very night fighting to prove I was innocent.
The room felt as though it would swallow me whole. Every corner held her image-standing there with tearful eyes, arms open, silently asking me to come to her. She had only wanted to hug me once, but all I ever did was push her away. All I ever did was hate her.
My head spun, and my stomach twisted so violently that I thought I might gag. I wanted to disappear, to hide somewhere these memories could never reach me somewhere I wouldn't have to face the truth that, all these years, if anyone had been wrong, it was only me.
I dropped to my knees beside the bed and slowly slid into the small space beneath it.
The darkness, the suffocating heat, and the sweat clinging to my skin dulled the pain inside me for a moment.
But it couldn't silence the image of her pain-the way she had stood there, carrying years of rejection in her eyes, loving someone who gave her nothing but hatred in return.
How many times had she swallowed her tears, hidden her heartbreak, and still reached out to me with trembling hands?
And every single time, I had been the one to pull away.
I thought the darkness beneath the bed would swallow me whole. I thought I had no right to go back. Hell, I couldn't go back... not until I suddenly found myself in Yugant's arms.
The moment he pulled me against his chest, I understood. I knew what I had done was wrong, but what I was trying to do now was even worse.
Running away had never given me anything except more pain. Hiding had never fixed anything. So instead of pushing him away, I broke down in his arms and whispered that I wanted to see my mumma.
He looked exhausted.
I could see it all over his face-the mess in his hair, the deep lines etched across his forehead, and the weariness that had settled into his eyes after days of dealing with me. Days of me troubling him, pushing him away, and building walls around myself so no one could get close.
Yet he still pulled me closer.
"We're going to meet her," he said softly.
And that was it.
It was midnight when we stood outside the door of her flat, waiting for her to open it.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. Every second felt heavier than the last. I didn't know what I would say when she opened the door. I didn't know if she would cry, yell at me, or simply look at me with the same pain I had been running from all these years.
Yugant pressed the doorbell once again, and after a few seconds, the door finally opened.
"Who came at th-"
Naanu stopped mid-sentence the moment he saw us standing outside. For a few seconds, he just stared.
"Dhwani...?"
I nodded and stepped closer, holding his hand.
"Yes... Naanu."
His eyes instantly filled. "You... you finally came back?"
A tear rolled down my cheek as I nodded. The next second, he pulled me into his arms. I had thought he would be angry. That he wouldn't let me enter or he would question me.
Instead, he hugged me as if he had been waiting.... Waiting for this moment... for this years.
The warmth of his embrace only made the guilt inside me heavier.
"Who is there at this hour, Dad?"
Mumma's voice reached us from inside. A few moments later, she walked into the living room.
She was wearing a simple nightgown, her hair tied into a loose braid resting over her left shoulder, her glasses sitting low on her nose.
The moment her eyes landed on us, she froze.
"Mr. and Mrs. Raizaada..." she said calmly. "Is everything alright? If you've come regarding the case, my assistant will update you with-"
"Mumma..." The word broke out of me before I could stop it. "No... please..." I ran straight to her and wrapped my arms around her. Holding her as tightly as I could.
"I'm sorry..." The words came out between broken sobs. "I'm so... so sorry, Mumma. I hurt you. I only gave you pain. I made you the villain in my life." My breathing became uneven. " I hated you..."
Another sob escaped.
"I didn't trust you. I believed everyone except you. I never even gave you one chance to explain."
I coughed, trying to catch my breath.
"I'm... I'm not a good daughter."
Fresh tears streamed down my face staining her shoulder. "I don't deserve to call you Mumma." My voice cracked completely. "But... please..." I clutched the back of her nightgown harder. "Please forgive me."
"I can't..." I struggled to breathe. "I can't live with this guilt anymore."
My chest burned.
"I was wrong. So wrong. I kept punishing you for something you never did."
"I hated the only person who never stopped loving me."
My legs started giving way beneath me.
"Mumma..." I cried helplessly. "Please......I know I don't deserve you, you can tell me, slap me, or push me away but please call me your daughter once. I just want to hear you call me Dhwani. I want my Mumma back..... please."
Every word came out with difficulty. My sobs had turned into painful gasps.
She stood completely frozen. Her hands remained by her sides.
I pulled away a little and looked at her with my tear filled hopeful eyes. "Mumma..." I whispered again.
"I'm sorry..."
"I'm so sorry..."
"I missed you..."
"I needed you..."
"Please don't hate me."
The words dissolved into another coughing fit.
My body shook uncontrollably.
Only then did she come back to herself. One trembling hand slowly rested against my cheek. " Dhwani..."
I nodded. "I am sorry..."
She gently cradled my head and pulled me into her tight motherly embrace. "It's okay..." Her own voice broke. "It's okay, my baby."
The moment I heard those four words...
Whatever strength I had left disappeared.
I cried in her arms like the seven-year-old pain inside me had finally found its way home.
I... I'm really sorry." I could barely breathe. "Please... don't hate me."
She tightened her arms around me immediately.
"Hate you?" Her voice cracked near my ear. "I could never hate you."
She pulled back just enough to cup my face, wiping my tears with trembling fingers.
"You're the piece of my heart I spent seven years searching for, Dhwani." Fresh tears rolled down her own cheeks. "How can a mother hate her child?"
She pulled me away and kissed my forehead and my face again and again, as if trying to make up for every moment she had lost.
"I prayed for you every single day." Her thumb caressed my cheek. "There wasn't a single morning I didn't wake up hoping I'd find you."
Another tear escaped her. "There wasn't a single night I slept peacefully wondering whether my daughter had eaten, whether she was safe, whether someone was there to hug her when she cried. Or... or whether she was alive." Her voice trembled. "So don't you ever say I hate you."
She rested her forehead against mine.
"You can be angry with me. You can question me. You can even stop talking to me. But never... never think I stopped loving you."
She closed her eyes as another sob escaped. "Because loving you is the only thing I never failed to do."
I shook my head immediately. "No... You never failed, Mumma." My voice trembled. "You never did. It was me who failed as a daughter."