“I hope she dies.” Avija said.
Before I could respond, Dadi stepped forward.
And slapped her.
The sound echoed through the corridor like a gunshot. Avija's head snapped to the side, her hand flying to her reddening cheek.
"How dare you," Dadi said, her voice cold and hard in a way I had never heard before. "How dare you stand there and justify what you have done. You wished death on an innocent girl. You said it would be better if she died. What kind of person are you?"
Sangeetha aunty moved to defend her daughter, but Dadi held up a hand.
"No. I do not want to hear it. I understand now. I understand why Armaan had that flaw in his kundali. The prophecy was not a curse. It was protection. God was trying to save my grandson from marrying someone like her." She pointed at Avija with disgust. "Someone cruel and selfish and heartless."
Avija's eyes filled with tears, but Dadi was not finished.
"Get out of this hospital. Get out of our lives. I never want to see your face again. Neither of you." She looked at Sangeetha aunty with equal disdain. "You are not welcome in my home. You are not welcome near my family. Leave. Now."
For a moment, Sangeetha aunty looked like she might argue. But something in Dadi's expression made her think better of it. She grabbed Avija's arm and pulled her toward the exit.
"This is not over," Avija said, looking back at me. "When she wakes up and realizes you lied to her, she will leave you. And you will have nothing."
Then they were gone, their footsteps fading down the corridor.
I slumped back against the wall, all the fight draining out of me. Without Avija there to focus my rage on, there was nothing left but fear and guilt and desperate, aching hope.
Please let her live. Please let her be okay. Please give me a chance to make this right.
We waited. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. Nurses came and went. Doctors walked past with clipboards. The world kept turning while mine hung suspended in terrible uncertainty.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the operating room doors opened. A surgeon emerged, still in his scrubs, pulling down his mask.
We all stood immediately, moving toward him as one.
"How is she?" I asked, my voice breaking. "Is she okay?"
The doctor looked tired but not grim. That had to be a good sign. Right?
"Your wife is stable. The surgery went well. We repaired the internal bleeding and set her broken ribs. She has a concussion, but the brain scans show no permanent damage. She is going to be fine."
Relief hit me so hard I nearly fell. Papa caught my arm, steadying me.
"And the baby" the doctor continued. "Both mother and baby came through the surgery without complications."
The world stopped.
Baby?
"What?" The word came out as barely a whisper.
The doctor looked surprised.
"You did not know? Your wife is pregnant. About two weeks along. We were very careful during the surgery to make sure both she and the fetus were safe. They both came through perfectly."
Pregnant. Viya was pregnant. We were going to have a baby.
Dadi let out a cry of joy and grabbed Papa's arm. Papa was smiling, tears streaming down his face. Uncle Vinay was laughing and crying at the same time.
But I could not move. Could not process what I had just heard.
