The house was quiet, heavy with tension. The storm outside had passed, but inside, everything still felt broken.

Shradha walked into the bedroom slowly, her body tired and her heart heavier than ever. He was right behind her, silent, his face hard and cold. The door shut behind them with a soft click that still made her flinch. She didn't look at him. She couldn't.

The room was different now. The mirror above the dresser had been fixed. He had shattered it the night he found out she was missing. Now the new glass was clean and clear, reflecting everything too clearly.

She saw herself—hair messy, eyes red, face pale with regret. Then she saw him, standing still, like a statue. Her heart ached.

Without a word, she dropped onto the bed. The mattress sank beneath her as she curled into herself, pulling her knees up, one hand over her belly. The tears came fast—quiet at first, then harder. Her body shook as guilt poured out.

She had left.

She had trusted her mother—someone who had almost killed her.

She had risked their baby's life.

And now she was back... with nothing but regret.

Behind her, he watched. Not directly, but through the reflection in the mirror. Every sob from her felt like a punch to his chest. He wanted to go to her. To hold her. To press his hand against her belly and feel the life growing there. A part of him. A part of them.

But he couldn't move.

His anger still burned. The fear, the betrayal, the helplessness—he couldn't just let it go. He wanted to scream, to cry, to forgive... but all he could do was stand there, frozen.

She lay on the bed, drowning in pain.

He stood by the door, drowning in silence.

She lay curled on the bed, eyes swollen from crying, her body still. The room was heavy with silence, but something caught her eye—a flash of red against white.

His arm.

It was bandaged, but fresh blood had already seeped through, staining the fabric.

Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke, barely above a whisper.
"How did you hurt yourself...?"

He didn't look at her. His jaw clenched as he peeled off his shirt, revealing more bruises, the lines of exhaustion carved deep into his back.
"Mind your own business," he said coldly, grabbing a towel from the rack.

She flinched at the tone, but didn't say anything more.

Aditya disappeared into the bathroom, the door left open. She heard the water running. Heard it beat against the tile like rain—sharp and unrelenting. He scrubbed himself hard, as though he could wash away the blood on his hands. The memory of the woman he had left in a pool of it still clung to his skin. Someone had to pay for what was done.

By the time he returned, steam followed him out. His hair was wet, his body clean, but nothing had changed. The darkness in his eyes was still there. The storm inside him hadn't quieted.

She hadn't moved.

She still lay there, limp like a puppet with its strings cut, her hand resting on her belly. Her face was pale and blotchy with tears. Guilt gripped her tighter than sleep ever could.

He stood there for a moment, staring. Something twisted in his chest.

Aditya wanted to be the first to know about the baby. To hold her, to celebrate. Not to find out from trash.

But now wasn't the time to fall apart. There was someone else to think about now. Someone growing inside her.

"Did you eat anything?" he asked, voice low.

She didn't move.

He asked again, firmer. "I said—did you eat?"

Still no answer. Just the same haunted eyes, staring at the sheets.

His patience snapped.

He stormed forward, grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her up from the bed. She gasped softly, too weak to fight him.

Her face was a mess. Tear-streaked. Lost.

He wanted to wrap his arms around her. To say that it was over. That she was safe now. That he still wanted this child. That he still wanted her.

But he didn't.

She needed to understand the damage she had done. She needed to feel it.

He dragged her into the bathroom, flicking on the light. The mirror didn't lie—she looked broken.

Without a word, he began undressing her. His hands were rough but not cruel, moving with purpose. But under the tension, there was something else—something desperate. His hands trembled slightly as they reached her belly. He paused there, for a beat longer than necessary. Pressed his palm gently against the curve.

Their child. Still safe.

He didn't speak.

He couldn't.

He turned on the water. Let it run warm. And then, without looking at her, stepped back.

She stood there, arms across her chest, shivering—but not from the cold.

The water streamed down her back, warm but meaningless. She stood beneath it, her skin prickling under the weight of a thousand thoughts. The silence around her was louder than any scream. Her eyes stared blankly at the tiled wall until something in her chest—something buried beneath all the fear, guilt, and shame—suddenly broke free.

She turned.

Her voice cracked, but her words were clear.
"Are you going to throw me away after the baby's born?"

He had just reached the door, about to give her space. Her words froze him in place.

He didn't answer.

Of course he didn't.

She stepped out, water dripping from her body, puddling at her feet as she followed him into the bedroom, completely bare. Her hair clung to her skin, her lips trembled, but her eyes were blazing now—not with strength, but with desperation.

He turned around and saw her.

For a moment, his breath caught. Her body, her beauty—it was stunning. A reminder of the woman he once couldn't keep his hands off. But he quickly looked away, furious at himself for letting lust cloud the storm that still raged between them.

Without a word, he picked up a towel and gently began drying her, starting with her shoulders, then her arms, careful, silent. Like he was handling something fragile. Then he took a robe and wrapped it around her, tying it tight, shielding her from the chill.

Shradha didn't resist.

But her eyes... they were empty. Hollow.

"I'm not a doll," she said quietly, almost like a child speaking to a cruel parent.

And then, stronger this time:
"Tell me the truth."

He didn't answer.

Her voice rose, trembling with pain and fear.

"Are you going to leave me once I give you your child? Is that what I'm here for? Is that why you married me?"

Still silence.

She stepped closer, fists clenched by her sides.
"If it's a girl... will she turn out like me? Will you resent her too?"

His eyes darkened.

"If it's a boy... will he be worse? Will you mold him into someone like you? Or will you toss me aside because I'll no longer be useful once he's here?"

Each question hit like a slap, but she couldn't stop. Her words were raw, cutting.
"Am I just a womb to you? A body? A tool to give you an heir?"

Tears filled her eyes again, but this time, they were from rage—not sorrow.

"Say something!" she shouted.

He stared at her, jaw tight, breathing heavy.

There was so much he wanted to say.

But none of it came out.

And so, they stood there, soaking in the pain of every truth that still hung unspoken in the air between them.

The silence was no longer cold.

Her voice cracked under the weight of everything she had held in for too long. But when he didn't respond—when he just stood there, silent and still—something inside her shattered completely.

She took a step back, hands trembling as they clutched her belly.

Tears burst from her eyes, falling fast, her breath hitching in short, panicked gasps.
"Just kill me," she whispered at first.
And then louder—
"Just kill me!"

His eyes widened, but he didn't move.

"You already killed my mother," she choked. "What's one more life, right? I trusted her and she tried to kill me... But you—" her voice broke— "you made me believe I was safe. That this child meant something. That I meant something."

She dropped to her knees, her hands still wrapped protectively around her belly as she sobbed.
"If I'm such a burden... if I'm too broken, too weak—then finish it. Do it now."

Her voice turned pleading, her words shaking with sorrow and surrender.
"Find someone else. Someone sane. Someone who won't run, who won't cry, who'll give you sons and heirs and pride. I'm not her. I never was."

He stood frozen, heart thundering in his chest.

She looked up at him, her face soaked, her body trembling, the robe loose around her shoulders, barely covering her grief.
"Just... don't keep me here like this. Not like this. Not for the child. Not because you feel sorry for me. If you can't love me, then let me go. Or end it."

The silence that followed was deafening.

The only sound in the room was her crying—deep, aching, like a wound that refused to close.

He took one step forward. Then stopped.

His fists clenched.

He wanted to scream. He wanted to lift her up and hold her and yell at her and beg her not to say those things. But all he could do was watch as the woman he once adored fell apart in front of him, begging him for death, begging him to choose someone else.

And still—he said nothing.

Because even now, even in this moment, he didn't trust his voice not to betray the truth:

That he didn't want anyone else.
That he had already killed too much.
And that the worst thing he ever did—
was make her feel unloved.

_____
This was a difficult chapter to write huff!

Let me know what you think.

Next update at 70 votes.

Also for those who dont know Ashish's story is being updated alongside. Please check it out as well