Chapter 7: The End of the Road?

Leave. Just leave. The cry in my heart nearly tore my throat apart. I curled up on the bed, tears streaming down my face. Four years—every grievance erupted at this moment.

The memories came flooding back—each ignored festival, every awkward family dinner, every time Aarav refused to let me hold his hand on the way to the park. My body shook with the force of it all, as if my grief had been waiting for permission to break free.

I called Dadaji Sharma, and he told me to come to the old house in two days. After hanging up, I felt utterly drained. But those terrifying comments... Divorce, father, stepmother, widower in his fifties... Despair washed over me again. Maybe, for the sake of all I’ve done for Aarav, Dadaji Sharma will help me...

I wiped my face with the edge of my dupatta, the fabric rough against my skin. I hoped, just for once, Dadaji would see the pain behind my silence.

For the next two days, with Meera there, her laughter as she played with Aarav would always ring out just as my hand touched the doorknob.

Every time I tried to approach, the peal of their laughter would reach me first—sharp, bright, and undeniable. It was as if the universe itself had shut the door in my face.

“Maa——”

Aarav’s call, mingled with bell-like laughter, my nails dug into my palm; only then did I stop myself from opening the door. If Meera’s arrival can make Aarav healthy, then maybe that’s a good thing, right?

I repeated the words to myself like a mantra, trying to ignore the coldness settling in my chest. Maybe this was what real mothers did—sacrificed, even when it hurt.

Two days later, I finally met Dadaji Sharma at the old house.

The ancestral house smelled of sandalwood and old books. Dadaji sat in his favourite armchair, a cup of chai in hand, sunlight slanting through the high windows. As he spoke, he stirred sugar into his chai, his old-school habits comforting and familiar.

“You want a divorce?”

Dadaji Sharma picked up a cup of chai and brought it to his lips, but his gaze was fixed on me.

His eyes, sharp as ever, seemed to see through every excuse I might have prepared. The silence stretched, only the faint clink of his cup against the saucer punctuating the tension.

[The supporting character wants a divorce? Isn’t it supposed to be the male and female leads who bring it up after falling out of love?]

[Bas karo, yaar 😢 Supporting character ki toh life hi khatam ho gayi.]

The barrage did nothing to lessen the pressure Dadaji Sharma gave off. My heart still trembled.

I clasped my hands together in my lap, fingers twisting my engagement ring round and round, as if hoping it would somehow anchor me to this life.

“Because of that Meera?” Dadaji Sharma continued.

His tone was matter-of-fact, but there was a hint of something—concern, perhaps?—lurking behind his formal exterior.

I looked up at him in surprise. He set down his chai cup.

“No need to be surprised. I investigated that Meera. Ordinary family background, graduated from a top Indian university, became Priya’s assistant by chance. But there’s something you might not know.”

His eyes glinted, and in that moment, I realised my story was far from over.