Chapter 5: Children and Chains

I stood in the heavy air, the scent of spilled tea and old grudges mixing with the evening’s dust. The pigeons on the balcony cooed, indifferent to our troubles.

After a few steadying breaths, my worry for my children returned with full force. I had not come back for myself, but for the two souls who carried my blood.

Who could know how Priya raised them? Tales of stepmothers are rarely kind, and though Priya seemed gentle, a mother’s worry is never easily soothed.

I told Sunita, "Go call the tutor and bring Arjun here."

I waited on the veranda, the cane chair creaking under me, the old neem casting dappled shadows. I remembered teaching Ananya to count pigeons from this very spot.

Arjun arrived, his steps slow, his sandals dragging. His hair was neatly combed, cheeks still round, but his features already echoed Rohan’s—his jaw set, nose proud. My son, yet not mine.

His face was closed, his eyes flickering with suspicion. Sunita prompted, "Arjun baba, this is your real Maa."

He mumbled, "Maa," eyes on the floor.

Tears pricked my eyes. The word I’d waited years to hear now sounded foreign.

When I left, he was just a baby, his tiny hand gripping my finger. Now he was tall, the years lost between us etched into his face.

I reached out, hand trembling, to touch his cheek. He flinched back, the movement slight but it burned like a fresh chilli on a wound.

I withdrew my hand, refusing to show hurt. "How have your father and Priya aunty treated you?"

"Papa is busy with office. Priya aunty remembers my likes, makes my food, got me a tutor."

His eyes brightened at Priya’s name. My heart twisted. The old ache of absence mingled with a new pain—being replaced.

At least, Priya had been kind. I forced a smile, shaky but sincere.

He looked up. "Why did you come back, Maa?"

The question hit like a slap, careless and sharp. He didn’t pause, "What about Priya aunty? How will she manage now?"

I replied, voice even, "She’s your father’s wife. That won’t change."

He pressed, "And you?"

I said, "I’ve remarried too. But I missed you and Ananya. I came to ask—"

He interrupted, shocked. "Remarried?"

I nodded. The word lay heavy, a secret meant for closed doors.

His anger flared. "You were gone for years—who would marry you? How could anyone accept me as their stepson?"

His words echoed Rohan’s, society’s. My boy was a stranger now.

"Who taught you this?" I asked softly. He looked away, lips pressed tight.

I saw someone had poisoned his heart against me. Still, I softened, unfastened my gold chain and held it out. "If you regret this, come find me. I will help you once—but only if you accept my conditions."

He hesitated, then took the chain, fingers clenching it tight—a bond not fully broken.

He turned away, but the gold chain glinted in his fist—a silent promise neither of us could name.