Throne and Thread

Chapter 54 Policy of Pain

Some victories are too loud to hear what they cost..

- Vedashree Deshmukh Vardhan

Author's Note:

This chapter took a lot out of me - emotionally and mentally. It's one of the hardest pieces I've written so far.

I hope it reaches you the way it reached me while writing.

Your comments mean more than you know.

Adhrita sat at the breakfast table, stirring her milk absently.

"You need to finish that," Shaurya said, lowering his newspaper to look at her.

"I know, Papa," she said softly. "I like milk... I just-" she sighed, glancing at the glass, "-I don't know why I don't want to anymore."

"It's not your fault, beta," Devika Dadi interrupted, with a knowing smile. "It's the Vardhan traits."

Shaurya groaned, "Maa, it's not-"

But Devika cut him off sharply, "Yeh sab Vardhans aise hi hain! These traits start showing up early. You did the same when I was pregnant with you - five months in, and milk was suddenly an enemy."

Adhrita smiled faintly, and Shaurya gave her a helpless look that almost said I warned you about this family.

"Where's Vritant?" Raj Vardhan asked from the head of the table, his voice calm but curious.

"Dadu, he's out of town," Adhrita replied politely. "He'll be back in two days."

"He didn't say he was leaving," Shaurya frowned.

"He had to go urgently early this morning," she said, her tone even, careful.

Before anyone could respond, Rawat entered with Karma.

The moment the dog saw Adhrita, his tail wagged wildly, and he barked with joy, about to leap toward her.

"NO!" Vedashree's voice sliced through the room like command.

Karma froze mid-motion, startled.

"Take him out," she ordered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Rawat hesitated and tugged the leash gently, but Karma refused to move - his tail went stiff, and he began barking at Vedashree, loud and angry.

"Rawat!" Vedashree's tone hardened, but Rawat was already struggling. Karma's growl deepened; it was the sound of recognition mixed with defiance.

Adhrita's heart clenched. It had been weeks since Karma had seen her - Vedashree had made sure of that. She pushed her chair back and stood up, ignoring the silence that fell across the table.

"Let me," she said quietly.

She walked over, her steps measured, steady. Rawat looked at her helplessly before letting go of the leash.

Karma whimpered softly when she took it, instantly calming under her touch.

"It's okay," she whispered, crouching down. "It's been too long, hasn't it?"

She led him to the living room, sat down on the sofa, and patted the spot beside her. Karma climbed up carefully, resting his head on her lap.

She ran her fingers through his fur as he began sniffing her - slow, cautious, curious - before nuzzling gently against her stomach. Her bump was starting to show, and she smiled down at him.

"Yeah," she murmured, "someone's in there."

Karma let out a small bark, tail wagging again.

Adhrita chuckled softly. "I missed you too, Karma. I guess not everyone in this house follows orders, hmm?"

The dog gave a small snort - almost like agreement - and rested his head back on her lap.

??? V ? A ???

She'd read it a hundred times, yet it still felt like a deck of cards - shuffled truths hiding in plain sight. Her thumb brushed over a note in the margin when her phone buzzed beside her.

She picked it up. "Hello?"

"How are you?" his voice came through - low, steady, familiar.

"I'm fine," she said, smiling without meaning to.

"And what about them?" he asked.

"Them who? Papa?" she teased lightly. "He's fine. Still scaring the staff before breakfast."

"Not papa," he said, a small huff of amusement escaping him. "I'm talking about Heartstoppers."

She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Your cars are safe, don't worry. Rawat keeps polishing them more than your trophies."

He chuckled quietly. "I meant my heartstoppers, Hritaa..."

Her grin softened. "Your heartstoppers are actually stopping my heart these days."

The humor vanished instantly from his voice. "What? What happened to you?"

"Relax," she said, laughing softly. "Nothing dramatic. Just cramps - the babies reminding me who's really in charge now."

There was a beat of silence on his end. She could almost hear the exhale - the one that carried both worry and love.

"I'll ask them not to trouble you," he said finally.

"Mm?" she hummed, eyes twinkling. "And how will you do that, Mr. Vardhan? Send an official memo to my stomach?"

"Don't tempt me," he said, half serious. "They listen to me."

"Of course they do," she teased, closing the Lotus File and leaning back against the headboard. "They inherited the same ego."

There was a quiet pause - that soft silence that only existed between them.

Then his voice came again, quieter this time.

"Still, tell them... tell my heartstoppers their father misses them."

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut. "They know," she whispered. "They kick every time you call."

"I miss you," he finally said it - soft, unguarded, like a truth he'd been holding too tightly.

"Then come back soon," she replied, her voice gentle but steady.

"I never wanted to leave you," he murmured, and she could hear the exhaustion in his sigh.

She didn't respond immediately. She knew him - the tone behind that breath, the weight behind his pauses.

Vritant Vardhan never left her without reason.

Not for business.

Not for politics.

Not even for himself.

If he was away, it meant something was important. Too important.

Still, the thought nagged her - Mumbai for two days? It didn't sound like him.

She whispered a quiet "bye," and before he could reply she ended the call. She set the phone on the bedside table, exhaled slowly, and rose.

??? V ? A ???

Adhrita walked into the kitchen and found Aasha Tai bent over the counter, frosting a cake.

"Cake?" she asked.

"Hmm," Aasha Tai replied, without looking up. "It's Vedashree tai's birthday."

"When?" Adhrita frowned.

"Tomorrow."

That startled her. The Prime Minister's birthday - and not a word had been said in the house. No preparations, no wishes, not even a whisper.

"Tai," she asked after a pause, "for how long have you known Mummy?"

Aasha Tai smiled faintly. "Since she was fifteen years old," she said, her hands still busy decorating the cake.

When the frosting was done, she rinsed her hands, poured a glass of milk, and passed it to Adhrita.

"I don't feel like having milk today," Adhrita murmured.

Aasha Tai chuckled softly. "You're behaving exactly like your mother-in-law. When she was pregnant, she hated milk too. I had to force her every single day."

Adhrita hesitated, then said quietly, "Tai... I want to know."

"Know what?"

"Mummy... why she..." The words refused to finish themselves.

"Why?" Tai's tone sharpened slightly.

Adhrita lowered her gaze. "I want her for my babies," she whispered.

Aasha Tai paused, studying her. "And why do you want her? She's the Prime Minister of the nation - in case you've forgotten."

"Yes," Adhrita said firmly. "But she's also the grandmother of my babies."

The kitchen fell silent.

Finally, Aasha Tai sighed, her voice softening. "You're so brave," she said. "People think you're the weakest link in the Vardhan family. But they forget - soft doesn't mean weak."

Adhrita said nothing, waiting.

"You don't want to drink milk, but you do - for your babies. That's what mothers do. Tai happens to Vritant's mother too," she added with a small, wistful smile.

Then she turned to leave, but paused at the doorway. "There's a saying - like mother, like son."

Adhrita sipped the milk silently and went back to her room.

She lay down, but the discomfort wouldn't let her rest. She switched on the TV to distract herself, but even that failed to quiet her thoughts. Eventually, she got up and walked to the dressing room, opening one of the drawers.

"These are your papa's," she whispered, taking out a few old Hot Wheels cars. She smiled, placing her hand over her stomach. "He still plays with these. Once he even hid his medical reports inside them," she laughed softly.

"I wonder what you two will be like," she said.

Then Aasha Tai's words echoed in her mind - like mother, like son.

"I guess I'll have to press as hard as I did with your father," she whispered, glancing at the clock. 11:58 p.m.

A sudden pain shot through her, sharp enough to make her gasp. Fear gripped her chest. She steadied herself and hurried toward Vedashree's room.

From the corridor, she heard voices.

"Tai, please... it's your birthday," Aasha Tai was saying inside.

Adhrita pushed the door open quietly.

Vedashree was sitting on the floor, her back resting against the bed, photographs scattered around her - her twin sons, from their childhood, their laughter, and the tragedy that followed.

Aasha Tai knelt beside her, helpless. "Why are you doing this to yourself, Tai?" she asked gently.

Adhrita stayed by the door, unseen, watching as the Prime Minister of India sat broken before a handful of pictures.

"Mere bacche ke tukde kar diye usne..." Vedashree whispered, her voice trembling. "Aasha... usne kitni baar bulaya hoga mujhe? Usne bola hoga na, Aai, bacha lo..."

She choked. "Main nahi gayi na?"

("He tore my child into pieces..." Vedashree whispered, her voice trembling. "Aasha... how many times must he have called out to me? He must have said it, right? mom, save me..." Her voice broke. "And I... I never went, did I?")

Aasha Tai didn't answer. She'd seen this before - this late-night ritual of grief.

Vedashree's eyes moved from picture to picture, her hand trembling as she touched one.

"Aasha, dekhna, yeh mera baccha ka haath hai... woh chillaaya hoga, na? Usko dard hua hoga... itna ki seh nahi paaya aur chala gaya...

Aasha, dekhna... yeh dono mere bacche hain... kuch khaya nahi hoga usne... jab tak main nahi khilati, woh khaata nahi tha... mera baccha bhookh se tadap raha hoga, na? Usne bola hoga mujhe, Aai, bhukh lagi hai, par maine usko bhooka maar diya, na?"

("Aasha, look-this is my child's hand...

he must have screamed, right? He must have been in agony...

so much that he couldn't bear it and he was gone...

Aasha, look... these two are my children...

he wouldn't have eaten anything... he never ate until I fed him...

my child must have been writhing from hunger, right?

He must have said to me mom, I'm hungry, but I starved him to death, didn't I? ")

Her voice broke completely now.

"Dekhna usko gaadi ka kitna shauk tha... aur gaadi mein hi woh..." she trailed off, unable to finish. "Teen din... teen din usko maara hoga na... uski cheekh mujhe kyun nahi sunai di, Aasha? Woh mere bina sota nahi tha... toh kaise so gaya?"

("Look how obsessed he was with cars... and he was in the car when-" she trailed off, unable to finish. "Three days... they must have beaten him for three days, right? Why didn't I hear his screams, Aasha? He never slept without me... so how did he fall asleep?")

Adhrita couldn't hold it anymore. Tears blurred her vision. She stepped forward and placed a trembling hand on Vedashree's shoulder.

Vedashree, still lost in her memories, thought it was Aasha Tai. "Aasha, dekh... yeh mere bacche ka haath hai-" she stopped mid-sentence as she turned and saw Adhrita.

("Aasha, look... this is my child's hand-")

Shock flickered across her face, followed by panic. She instinctively moved away, ashamed to be seen this way.

Adhrita stood silently for a moment, watching her - the nation's most powerful woman, sitting on the floor, mourning like any mother would.

Then she whispered softly, "Aai."

(Mom)

Vedashree's eyes filled again.

Adhrita stepped forward and hugged her gently. For a moment, Vedashree didn't react. But then her body trembled - a sob broke loose, then another - and she gave in, crying into Adhrita's shoulder.

Eighteen years of contained grief poured out, wordless and raw.

When she finally pulled away, she wiped her tears quickly, forcing composure back into her voice. "You shouldn't stress yourself. What are you doing here?"

"Mummy, please," Adhrita said.

Vedashree turned away. "Aasha, take her back to her room. I'm cursed. I don't want my shadow on her or her babies."

"Mummy, please," Adhrita whispered, her own tears falling. She took Vedashree's hand and placed it on her stomach.

"Mere bachcho ki kasam," she said softly.

(I swear on my children.)

Vedashree froze. Her fingers trembled where they rested against Adhrita's belly.

"I lost mine," she whispered helplessly. "Why are you doing this?"

Adhrita guided her back to the bed.

Then she walked to the table, lit the single candle on the cake, and picked up a small plate.

Turning back, she smiled through tears.

"Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday, dear Dadi,

Happy birthday to you."

(Dadi is grandma)

Vedashree couldn't stop the tears this time. She smiled faintly as Adhrita sang, the sound soft and broken, yet full of love.

She blew out the candle, cut the cake, and fed Adhrita a bite - then another.

Adhrita took a small piece and offered it to her. Vedashree shook her head.

"For them?" Adhrita said quietly, placing her hand on her stomach. "Your grandkids are offering."

Vedashree hesitated - then finally took a bite.

Aasha Tai, still near the door, smiled through her tears.

"Gift milega?" Adhrita asked suddenly.

Vedashree blinked, confused. "What?"

"Sach," Adhrita said. "The truth."

(Will I get a gift?)

"No one ever asked - so why are you?" Vedashree asked, her voice barely steady.

"Because I'm selfish," Adhrita said simply. "I want my family whole - for my babies. I want my husband healed. I want my father, my mother, my family - all of us - to be okay. I don't want my children to grow up asking why their grandmother never plays with them."

"Kyunki yeh Vedashree uske layak nahi hai," Vedashree said, her voice cracking.

(Because this Vedashree doesn't deserve)

Adhrita shook her head and took her hand, leading her to the sofa. Both sat down in silence.

"Aasha," Vedashree said after a long pause.

Aasha Tai stepped forward.

"Bring the pictures," Vedashree said softly.

Aasha handed them over, her eyes glistening, then turned and quietly left the room - because she knew what was coming next.

Vedashree handed her a photograph - two little boys, their faces smeared with red powder, sitting on either side of a Ganpati idol.

"Mere bacche... Vedu, Vrittu," she said with a faint smile.

(My children)

"Unka favourite festival tha - Ganesh Chaturthi. Anant Chaturdashi ke din rote the, kehte the, 'Bappa humein chhod kar ja rahe hain!' Bahut roye the uss subah bhi... par Shaurya ne samjhaya tha,

'Bappa agle saal fir aayenge.'

Bas tab se ek hi baat unke zubaan pe thi - Ganpati Bappa Morya, Pudhchya varshi lavkarya. (Come soon next year)

Mujhe nahi pata tha uss din sirf Ganpati ka visarjan nahi hoga... meri zindagi aur meri saari khushiyon ka bhi visarjan ho jayega."

("It was their favorite festival - Ganesh Chaturthi.

On Anant Chaturdashi, they used to cry, saying, 'Bappa is leaving us!

'

They cried that morning too... but Shaurya had comforted them, saying,

'Bappa will come again next year.

'

And from that day on, they kept repeating only one thing - 'Ganpati Bappa Morya, Pudhchya Varshi Lavkarya' (Come soon next year).

I didn't know that day, it wouldn't just be Ganpati's visarjan (immersion)...

it would be the immersion of my entire life, my every joy. ")

Her voice trembled, her eyes fixed on the photo.

"Visarjan karke jaise hi main dhundhne lagi, pata chala woh dono kahin hain hi nahi. Kaise milte? Unko toh woh darinde le ja chuke the.

Mainne party ki saari taqat laga di, Shaurya ne apni poori duniya hila di, par kahin nahi mile. Dusre din Baba ko call aata hai - ke mere bacche unke paas hain.

Humne puri koshish ki... Main apne Baba, Nandish Deshmukh, ke pairon mein gir gayi thi... maine bheekh maangi thi unse... Sirf apne baccho ke liye. Unhone mujhse wada kiya tha - 'Main tere bacche wapas laaunga.'

Zindagi ne mujhe ek mauka diya tha, apne bacchon ko bachane ka. Par mere jaisi badnaseeb maa koi nahi, jiske haathon pe apne hi bacche ka khoon likha ho.

Main unki har shart maanne ko tayyar thi. Apni kursi chhodne tak ko tayyar thi. Mujhe sirf mere bacche chahiye the.

Par Baba aur intelligence team ka plan tha - hum negotiate nahi karenge. Unhone unka hideout trace kar liya tha. Socha, mere bacche wapas aayenge, aur woh log mar jayenge.

Par jab hum pohonche... woh log ja chuke the. Aur tab... sirf ek blast sunai diya.

Main bhagi thi, Adhrita... main bhagi thi jab maine apne bacche ki cheekh suni thi.

Mainne dekha - Mere bacche ke tukde ho gaye the.

Mera dusra beta ghasit kar le ja rahe the... Main uss aag mein kho gayi thi... mere bacche ka haath mere pairon ke paas gira...

Adhrita, maine apne bacche ke tukde dekhe the - ek ek tukda mujhe taana de raha tha,

'Aai, kyun maara mujhe?'

'Aisi maut kyun di mujhe?'

Mera doosra beta aadha mar chuka tha... uski aankhein mujhe chilla kar pooch rahi thi - 'Aai, kyun nahi bachaya?' Uske zakhm mujhe keh rahe the, Rajneeti mubarak ho, Aai.

Mujhe laga isse bura kya hoga - ki ek maa apne bete ko kho de. Par kudrat mujh pe itni meherbaan thi ki mere dusre bete ki zubaan bhi jala di gayi... taaki woh apna dard bata na sake. Aur phir... usko dobara le gaye.

Saat din. Saat din main har bhagwan, har insaan, har dushman se bhi bheekh maangti rahi - 'Mera baccha mujhe wapas de do.'

Aur jab woh wapas mila... woh coma mein chala gaya.

Main sab kuch kho chuki thi. Shaurya ko laga meri wajah se sab hua - aur usne mujhe mere bache se door kar diya. Shaurya galat bhi nahi tha.

Aur main? Main apne bacche ke khoon se rangi hui rajgaddi pe baith gayi.

Do saal lage usko coma se bahar aate hue.Aur jaise hi aankhein kholi... Uski aankhon mein maine dekha - nafrat. Wahi nafrat jo mujhe bata rahi thi ki uske saath kya hua, aur uski wajah main thi.

Uski masoomiyat chali gayi thi. Mera beta chala gaya - mujhe chhod kar London.

Uske baad mere liye kuch nahi bacha. Mere baccho ko fir kabhi na bhukh lagi, na neend aayi. Uske baad unke saath unki Aai bhi chali gayi.

Aur reh gayi... Iss desh ki Pradhan Mantri.

Yeh hai sach. Uski zindagi ki tabahi main hoon. Apne bacche ki qatil main hoon.

Arey, main toh uski nafrat ke layak bhi nahi. Uska chehra mujhe har din yaad dilata hai maine kya kiya. Aur kudrat ka tamasha dekho - Bhoolna chaahu bhi toh nahi bhool sakti. Dono ko ek hi chehra diya usne.

Main itni badnaseeb maa hoon, Adhrita... Mere bete ne kabhi aakar mujhse poochha bhi nahi - 'Aai, aisa kyun kiya?' Usne mujhe saza bhi nahi di.

Aur mera pati? Mainne usse uski saanse chheen li. Usko zinda chhod diya, bas taaki har din tadapta rahe. Us galti ki saza bhugte jo galti usne kabhi ki hi nahi.

Ek bacche ke tukde kar diye, Ek bacche ki zindagi ke tukde kar diye, Aur pati ki saanson ke tukde kar diye."

("After the visarjan, when I began looking for them, I realized - both my children were gone. How could I find them? Those monsters had already taken them away. I used all the power of my party, Shaurya shook the entire world for them, but they were nowhere to be found.

The next day, Baba received a call - they said my children were with him. We did everything we could... I fell at my father's feet - Nandish Deshmukh's feet - I begged him... for my children. He promised me, 'I will bring your children back.'

Life had given me one chance - to save my children. But there's no mother more cursed than me, whose own hands are stained with her child's blood. I was ready to do anything they asked. Even to give up my seat of power. I just wanted my children back.

But Baba and the intelligence team had a plan - they decided not to negotiate. They had traced the kidnappers' hideout. They thought my children would return safely, and those men would die.

But when we reached there... they were already gone. And then - we just heard a blast.

I ran, Adhrita... I ran when I heard my child scream. I saw - my child's body torn to pieces. My other son was being dragged away... I was lost in that fire - my child's hand fell at my feet...

Adhrita, I saw my child's body in pieces - and every piece mocked me, 'Aai, why did you kill me?'

'Why did you give me such a death?'

My other son was half-dead... his eyes screamed at me,'Aai, why didn't you save me?' His wounds told me, Congratulations on your politics, Mom.

I thought nothing could be worse - than a mother losing her son. But fate was merciful enough to burn my second son's tongue... so he could never speak of his pain. And then... they took him again.

Seven days. For seven days, I begged every god, every human, even my enemies - 'Give me my child back.'

And when he did return... he slipped into a coma.

I had lost everything.Shaurya believed it was all my fault - and he took me away from my son. He wasn't wrong. And me? I sat on a throne drenched in my child's blood.

It took him two years to wake from that coma. And when he opened his eyes, I saw it - hatred. The kind of hatred that told me everything - what he'd been through, and who was to blame. His innocence was gone. My son was gone - he left me for London.

After that, nothing was left for me. My children never felt hunger again. Never slept again. Because after they left, their mother left with them too.

And what remained... was just the Prime Minister of this country.

That's the truth. I am the destruction of his life. I am the murderer of my own child.

No, I don't even deserve his hatred. His face reminds me every day of what I've done. And look at destiny's cruelty - even if I want to forget, I can't. Because fate gave both my sons the same face.

I am such a cursed mother, Adhrita... My son never even came to ask me - 'Aai, why did you do it?' He never punished me.

And my husband? I took his breath away. I left him alive only so he'd suffer every day - for a sin he never even committed.

One child's body was torn apart. The other's life was shattered. And my husband's soul... broken into pieces.")

Silence fell heavy in the room. The clock ticked somewhere behind them - the only sound brave enough to move.

Vedashree's words still hung in the air like smoke, thick and choking. She sat there, trembling, the weight of her confession sinking into the cracks of her voice.

Adhrita didn't move for a while. Her throat was tight, her eyes blurred with tears she couldn't even feel. She wanted to speak, to console - but what could you possibly say to a woman who had just buried herself alive in guilt?

Finally, she moved closer. Without a word, she reached for Vedashree's trembling hands.

"Mummy..." she whispered.

Vedashree flinched at the word - it sounded too kind, too undeserved.

"Jin tasveeron ko tum dekhne se darti ho," Vedashree said, her voice breaking, "woh mere bacchon ne jee li thi. Mujhe apni rajneeti itni pasand thi... ki maine apne bacchon ke khun se hi usse rang diya."

("Those pictures you're afraid to even look at," Vedashree said, her voice breaking, "my children lived them. I loved my politics so much... that I painted it with my children's blood.")

She handed Adhrita another photograph.

"Aapne kaise jee liya?" Adhrita asked quietly, her courage trembling but firm.

("How did you live after that?")

Vedashree smiled faintly - a smile that never reached her eyes. "Iss sukoon se ki mera beta mujhe ab bhi nafrat ke layak samajhta hai."

("With the peace that comes from knowing... my son still considers me worthy of his hatred.")

Adhrita shook her head, tears gathering in her eyes. "Woh chhod dega aapko nafrat karna, Mummy..."

(He'll stop hating you one day, Mummy...)

"Nahi," Vedashree interrupted softly. "Mat karna kabhi aisa. Woh uss nafrat ke sahare hi zinda hai, Adhrita. Tum baad mein aayi ho. Uske jeene ki wajah main nahi... meri wajah se uska dard hai. Aur main chahti hoon mera beta jeeta rahe - chahe woh meri nafrat ke sahare hi sahi."

("No," Vedashree interrupted softly. "Don't wish for that, Adhrita. He survives because of that hatred. You came later in his life - I'm not his reason to live... I'm the reason for his pain. And I want my son to keep living - even if it's only on the strength of his hatred for me.")

Adhrita's throat tightened. "Aur aap?"

(And you?)

Vedashree gave a bitter smile. "Maine bola naa... kudrat badi meherbaan hai mujhpe. Mujhe khud se nafrat karne ka, ya marne ka bhi option nahi diya."

(Didn't I say? Fate has been very kind to me - it hasn't given me the luxury to hate myself... or the courage to die.)

"Aapne bhi toh sab khoya hai naa?" Adhrita said, her voice trembling.

(You've lost everything too, haven't you?)

Vedashree looked straight ahead. "Maine khoya nahi, maine gala ghota hai apni zindagi ka."

(I didn't lose it, Adhrita. I strangled my own life with my own hands.)

For a while, neither spoke. The silence between them felt like mourning.

Then Vedashree whispered, "Usko dard hua hoga naa?"

(He must've been in pain, right?)

"Mummy..." Adhrita's voice softened.

"Mere bacche ko dard hua hoga... usne bola hoga ki usko jaana hai..." Vedashree's words came out in gasps now. "Woh mere paas aata naa, main aanchal mein chhupa leti usko..."

("My child must've been in pain... he must've said he wanted to go..." Vedashree's voice faltered, breaking into gasps. "If only he'd come to me... I'd have hidden him in my arms...")

"Galti kaha ho gayi, Mummy?" Adhrita asked.

("Where did it all go wrong, Mummy?")

Vedashree's voice cracked. "Wahi nahi samajh aata. Galti kaha ho gayi? Team gayi thi jaise plan tha... phir unko kaise pata chala? Humne toh kaha tha hum paise denge... phir yeh sab kyun hua? Mujhe toh bas mera baccha chahiye tha..."

(That's what I can't understand. Where did it go wrong? The team went exactly as planned... then how did they find out? We agreed to pay the ransom... so why did this happen? I only wanted my child back...)

Her control finally broke. She looked up at Adhrita with hollow eyes.

"Aaj bhi mujhe mere bacche chahiye, Adhrita. Mujhe koi laa kar de de... bas ek baar mujhe mere bacche laa kar de de..."

(Even now, I want my children back, Adhrita. Someone... someone please bring them back to me... just once, let me hold them again...)

Her voice collapsed into pleading - a mother begging not for forgiveness, but for what could never return. Who could believe this woman, weeping like a beggar on the floor, was the most powerful person in the country?

Aasha Tai entered quietly and poured a glass of water, holding it to Vedashree's lips.

"Ab bas..." she whispered. "Hogaya, Tai... bas."

("Enough now..." she whispered. "It's over, sister... enough.")

Vedashree clutched her hand. "Aasha... usko takleef toh nahi hogi naa?"

(Aasha... he won't be in pain, right)

Aasha's eyes softened. "Nahi, Tai..."

(No, sister)

Vedashree looked up again, her voice trembling. "Aasha... kudrat fir se kuch galat toh nahi karegi naa? Main door rahoon kya? Meri wajah se fir se toh kuch nahi hoga naa?"

(Aasha... fate won't be cruel again, right? Should I stay away? What if... what if something happens again because of me?)

"Mummy..." Adhrita reached out, holding her hand. "enough, please." She pulled Vedashree into her arms, holding her tight.

Aasha Tai shook her head subtly at Adhrita - a silent warning. Don't cry more. It'll affect the babies. Adhrita nodded faintly, wiped her tears, and let Vedashree cry her heart out.

And then - it happened.

A sudden jolt. A kick.

"Ouch!" Adhrita gasped softly.

Vedashree froze and pulled back. "What happened?"

"They kicked..." Adhrita smiled through her tears.

For a moment, Vedashree just stared - then a small, disbelieving laugh escaped her lips.

Adhrita took her hand and placed it gently over her bump. Vedashree felt it - that tiny flutter, that pulse of new life.

"Happiest birthday..." Vedashree whispered.

"Mera Vrittu..." she murmured again, smiling through tears, her thumb brushing over the soft fabric of Adhrita's gown.

Adhrita smiled. "He'll love hearing that, Mummy."

"Today," Vedashree said softly, "so jao yahi. Bahar jaane ki zarurat nahi."

(Stay here and sleep. You don't need to go out.)

Adhrita nodded, exhausted. She got up, went to the bed, and lay down.

Vedashree went to the washroom, washed her face, and returned - a faint, almost peaceful smile on her face. She opened her wardrobe and took out two old stuffed toys - a small red car and a soft white owl.

"Really?" Adhrita smiled, surprised.

"Yes," Vedashree said, sitting beside her. "One liked cars... and one loved owls."

Both of them laughed - quietly, like a secret shared between two hearts that had known too much pain.

Adhrita hugged the toys close to her chest, and Vedashree lay beside her. She began gently patting Adhrita's head... then her stomach - slow, rhythmic, motherly.

Like she was putting all three of them - Adhrita, and the babies - to sleep.

Soon, Adhrita drifted off. And Vedashree stayed awake beside her, her hand still resting on the place where life moved under her palm - the first sign that maybe, after eighteen years, she was finally allowed to feel alive again.

??? V ? A ???

Adhrita woke up, sunlight spilling gently through the curtains. For a moment, she didn't remember where she was - then it came back to her. Vedashree's room. The night. The tears. The stories. The kick.

She sat up slowly and stretched, careful not to wake Vedashree, who was still asleep beside her, hand resting protectively near her.

Quietly, Adhrita got out of bed and tiptoed toward her own room. Halfway there, she realized - she'd left her phone.

"Vritant..." she muttered under her breath, instinctively reaching for it before remembering it wasn't with her.

She turned the corner - and froze.

Vritant was there, rushing down the corridor toward her room, his face pale with worry, his movements quick, restless.

"Vritant..." she called softly.

The moment he saw her, he stopped - just for a heartbeat - and then ran straight to her. He wrapped his arms around her so tightly that she almost lost her balance.

"Where were you?" His voice came out rough, almost trembling.

His grip was desperate - not angry, but scared. Like he was afraid she'd vanish again.

"I was in pain," she whispered against his shoulder, "so I slept in Mumma's room."

He pulled back at once, his eyes scanning her face, his chest rising and falling fast. When her words sank in, his shoulders finally loosened.

He closed his eyes and exhaled - a deep, shaky breath of relief - and wiped his face with his hand as though clearing away the panic.

Before he could speak, she took his hand gently and led him inside the room.

She sat on the bed, still holding his hand, and placed it on her stomach.

"They kicked," she said softly.

For a moment, Vritant froze. His hand went still, his expression unreadable.

"They... didn't," he whispered, almost in disbelief.

"Arey, hug me naa..." she teased lightly, smiling through her exhaustion.

He leaned down and hugged her carefully, his palm still on her stomach. And then - there it was. A small movement, like a heartbeat under his hand.

He went utterly still. His breath caught, and she felt the shift in his embrace - the fear melting, replaced by something deeper.

And when his arms tightened around her again, she felt it - his silent tears, his unspoken gratitude, his fragile joy.

Adhrita smiled into his shoulder. "They know you're home," she whispered.

He didn't reply - just held her closer, as if that one kick had brought him back to life.

??? V ? A ???

"Where are we going?" she asked, curiosity glinting in her eyes.

"Mriga Trishna," he replied, and an automatic smile spread across her lips - the kind that reached her eyes before she could stop it.

Soon, they reached their lake house. The air there always felt calmer, lighter - like time itself slowed down for them. He stepped out first and helped her carefully, his hand steady under hers as they walked up the wooden steps.

"Close your eyes," he said softly.

She laughed but obeyed, letting him guide her inside. The faint scent of cedar and water lilies filled the air.

He opened the door slowly, walked her a few steps forward, and stopped. Then he gently placed her hand on something smooth and carved.

"Now open."

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat.

Two wooden cradles stood before her, side by side - each perfectly crafted, adorned with soft chimes that tinkled faintly in the breeze. Inside were tiny pillows and embroidered sheets, delicate as clouds.

Her eyes widened. "You started shopping?" she asked, excitement bubbling through her voice.

She walked to one cradle, running her hand over the polished wood, then the other. "They're perfect," she whispered, her joy so pure it made him smile.

He gestured toward the wall. "There's more."

She turned - and saw two wooden frames hanging side by side. One held their first picture together, her smile shy and his rare; the other, the babies' first sonogram photo.

"I thought you'd keep the baby pictures in your wallet," she teased.

He chuckled. "Wallets don't deserve this much beauty."

Then his gaze fell to her feet - swollen, faintly red. The smile on his lips faded, replaced by worry.

"Adhri..." he murmured, moving closer. He held her hand and guided her to the bed, helping her sit down.

"What happened?" he asked, lowering himself to the floor. He lifted her feet gently onto his lap, untying her footwear.

"I ate imli yesterday," she admitted in a whisper, guilt flashing across her face.

He stilled. "Adhri..." he said again - this time more like a warning than her name.

"I was craving it..." she said quickly, pouting.

He looked up at her puppy eyes and sighed, shaking his head helplessly.

Before he could scold her further, she slipped her feet off his lap, caught his hand, and kissed his fingers softly.

He raised a brow, amused, and she just smiled, pointing to his shoes. His laces were undone.

"You can't bend down," he said.

She ignored him, motioning for his foot. He hesitated, but one look at her stubborn face and he gave in.

She tied his laces neatly and patted his knee like a proud child.

He smirked, gently moving her feet off his lap, and sat beside her on the bed.

"What do you think we'll have?" she asked after a moment.

"Girls," he said without hesitation.

She laughed. "And if they're boys?"

He froze - actually froze - and said quickly, "No. They'll be girls."

She smiled, watching as his fingers absentmindedly found the ends of her long hair. He began twirling them between his fingers - his old habit, his quiet comfort.

For a while, neither spoke. The only sound was the chime of the cradles swaying softly in the breeze.

Then he let go of her hair, looked at her, and said, "Let's go."

He reached out his hand, and she placed hers in his - and for once, neither of them needed any destination beyond that.

??? V ? A ???

As they finished dinner, the table buzzed softly with quiet chatter and the clinking of cutlery.

"Papa," Vritant called out, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Shaurya looked up from his plate. "Yes?"

"Pocket money," Vritant said casually, leaning back in his chair.

Shaurya blinked, then burst out laughing. "Pocket money? You're thirty, not thirteen!"

Adhrita hid her smile behind her glass, glancing at Vedashree's empty chair. The absence felt heavier tonight, though the laughter tried to fill it.

"Come to my office," Shaurya said finally, still shaking his head in disbelief.

Vritant grinned and followed him. Inside, Shaurya opened a drawer, pulled out a stack of cash, and handed it over.

Vritant weighed it in his hand, raised a brow, and said, "More."

Shaurya looked at him in mock confusion. "More? What for?"

"My family's increasing," Vritant said with a shrug, his tone deliberately casual.

Shaurya laughed again. "You're shameless."

And Vritant smirked, sliding the money into his pocket. "Shameless?" he echoed. "I prefer the term 'financially assertive.'"

Shaurya froze for a second - caught off guard by the line that was half joke, half truth - and then smiled, softer this time.

"Everything under control?" Shaurya asked, leaning back in his chair, his tone half casual, half probing.

"Yes," Vritant replied without missing a beat. "Everything except your grandchildren."

Shaurya raised an eyebrow. "Trouble already?"

Vritant smirked. "They've clearly inherited your stubborn streak."

Shaurya chuckled under his breath. "Well," he said, eyes glinting, "it's hereditary."

Vritant gave a crooked smile. "Of course. Tragedy runs in the family too."

A rare night - two Vardhans laughed, and the world didn't collapse.

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