Chapter 6: A New Beginning

I didn’t understand.

Why was this happening? What had I done to deserve such cruelty, again and again?

In my previous life, after I married Rohan, I never got pregnant.

Each month was a new disappointment. My mother-in-law’s sighs grew louder, her prayers more desperate. I learned to hide my shame, to mask my grief behind a forced smile.

My mother-in-law cried, made scenes, and threatened to jump in the well, trying to force Rohan to divorce me and remarry.

Her dramatics became legendary—neighbours would gather outside our house, whispering and speculating. She would stand at the well, wailing, until someone dragged her inside.

No matter how much she raged, he refused.

He stood his ground, for once. I clung to that small victory, even as the rest of my world crumbled.

“A bad wife should not be cast aside. If I divorce and remarry, what will people think?”

He cared more for his reputation than for my happiness. But in his own way, he tried to protect me.

“Ananya has been with me for more than ten years. Even if she has no great achievements, she’s worked hard.”

His words were cold comfort, but they were better than nothing. At least he recognised my efforts.

“Not having children isn’t a big deal. I’ll take a few mistresses, and if they have sons, I’ll raise them under her name.”

He treated the solution like a business transaction—impersonal, practical, devoid of emotion.

Later, Rohan did take two mistresses.

They moved into our home, their laughter echoing through the halls. I learned to avoid them, to keep my head down and my mouth shut.

But both only bore daughters.

The irony was not lost on anyone. My mother-in-law’s disappointment turned to bitterness, her prayers to curses.

My mother-in-law consulted a pandit, who said Rohan took mistresses too late.

She clung to this explanation, refusing to accept reality. The pandit’s words became her new mantra.

His luck for having sons was before age twenty—after that, only daughters.

She repeated it to anyone who would listen, as if it absolved her of responsibility. The rest of us suffered in silence.

Until the day I died, Rohan still had no sons.

His legacy ended with him—a cruel twist of fate for a family obsessed with lineage.

My mother-in-law hated me all the more for it.

Her anger burned hotter than ever, consuming everything in its path. I became the scapegoat for all her frustrations.

“Rohan, why?”

I turned to him, desperate for answers. My voice was barely a whisper, but he heard me.

After twenty years as husband and wife, Rohan understood my gaze almost instantly.

He looked away, guilt flickering across his face. He knew what I was asking.

Why?

The question lingered, unspoken. Why couldn’t he fight for us, just once?

Why didn’t you persist this time?

I searched his eyes for an answer, but found only regret. The silence between us grew heavier, impossible to break.

Rohan froze, his eyelashes trembling, lowering his head and avoiding my eyes.

He couldn’t meet my gaze—couldn’t face the consequences of his choices.

“I want a son.”

The words were simple, but they cut deep. All our years together reduced to a single unmet desire.

“That has always been my lifelong regret.”

He spoke softly, as if confessing a secret. I felt my heart break, knowing I could never give him what he wanted.

“Now, everything can still be changed.”

With those words, he turned away, leaving me to face the future alone. I stood in the empty courtyard, the weight of two lifetimes pressing down on me, unsure if this new beginning was a blessing or a curse.

But as the first drops of rain hit my skin, I knew—this time, I would write my own story.