A baby. Our baby.
"When can I see her?" I managed to ask.
"She is in recovery now. She should regain consciousness within the next hour or two. Then you can see her. But I must warn you, she is going to be very groggy and disoriented when she wakes up. Do not expect much conversation at first."
The doctor left to check on other patients. We all moved to the waiting area outside the recovery room and sat down.
Papa settled into the chair next to me. He did not say anything for a while, just sat there in solid, supportive silence.
Then he spoke, his voice quiet and serious.
"You need to fix this, Armaan. You need to do whatever it takes to win her back. To earn her trust again. To show her that you love her."
"I know," I said, my voice rough. "I will do anything. Everything. I do not care what it takes. I will spend the rest of my life making this up to her if I have to."
"Not just because of the baby," Papa said, making it a statement rather than a question.
"No. Not because of the baby. Because I love her. Because I cannot imagine my life without her. Because she is the best thing that has ever happened to me and I was an idiot to risk losing her."
Papa nodded, satisfied with my answer.
"Good. Then when she wakes up, you tell her that. You tell her everything. The truth, the whole truth, and then you tell her how you feel. And then you give her time to decide if she can forgive you."
"What if she cannot? What if this is too much? What if she leaves?"
"Then you respect her decision. But you do not give up. You show her every day that you are worthy of a second chance. You prove to her that your love is real."
I nodded, determination settling into my bones alongside the fear.
I would not lose her. I could not.
Whatever it took, however long it took, I would win back my wife.
The woman I loved.
The mother of my child.
Chapter 25
Armaan
I sent everyone home around midnight. Dadi did not want to leave, but she was exhausted and still recovering herself. Papa convinced her that they needed rest, that they would be no help to Viya if they collapsed from exhaustion.
Uncle Vinay left reluctantly, guilt written all over his face.
But I stayed. I could not leave. Would not leave.
I pulled a chair close to Viya's hospital bed and sat down, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest. The monitors beeped rhythmically, tracking her heartbeat, her oxygen levels, all the numbers that told me she was alive.
But she was not awake. Had not opened her eyes since the surgery.
The hours crawled by with agonizing slowness. I held her hand, careful of the IV line, and talked to her even though she could not hear me.
"I am so sorry, Viya. I am so, so sorry. I should have told you the truth. I should have been honest from the beginning. I was a coward. I was selfish. I was wrong."
The words poured out of me in the dark, quiet room. Apologies and confessions and desperate promises.
"Please wake up. Please give me a chance to make this right. I love you. I love you so much it terrifies me. Please do not leave me."
