Chapter 8: Shadows of the Past

That comment from Priya infuriated me—a lump in my throat, spoiling the sweetness of the day. I wanted to delete it, but wondered—maybe she was just being formal, not sarcastic?

Priya never cared for WhatsApp or forwards—she preferred old songs and handwritten letters. Maybe she meant well?

Still, anger burned. I messaged: [Priya, can’t you talk properly? Do you know what ‘happy dad’ means? Agar baat nahi karni toh mat karo.]

She replied, calm as ever: [Of course I know what ‘happy dad’ means.]

I shot back: [Then tell me, what does it mean?]

Her answer: [It means you’re raising another man’s child.]

Her words slapped me—my face burning, heart pounding. I almost smashed my phone, imagining her smug face.

Just as I went to block her, another message pinged: [Rohit, your nightmare is about to begin.]

My hand shook as I reread her words. For a moment, I hesitated, heart racing. Then, with a bitter taste in my mouth, I blocked her and put the phone aside, clutching my son.

For the first time, I wondered if freedom always tasted this bitter.