Page 63 of The Defiant Wife

Because let's be honest.He should.Marriage isn't a small thing.And whatever possessed him today is eventually going to wear off.

Then what?

My chest tightens.

Because for all his faults . . . I don't think Veeraj does things halfway.And somehow that scares me more.

A knock sounds against my door.

I quickly wipe my face.

Too late.

The door opens. My mother walks in.Without waiting for permission.Without greeting me.Without asking if I'm okay.She doesn't even glance at my face properly or even if she does she doesn't really care. She never did.

Something inside me wilts.Just a little."Tomorrow the jeweler will come."

I stare.She continues,"The wedding outfits need final approval."

Silence.

I wait.

Maybe she'll notice. Maybe she'll finally look at me and ask about the tears. About anything. One question.One.

She doesn't.

"We'll need a HMUA and a mehandi artist."

I swallow. Hard. My throat hurts.

"Okay."She nods absentmindedly, she opens her phone scrolling something on it,"The guest list is being finalized too."

Another pause. Then finally she looks up.

Hope flickers briefly inside me. Only to die immediately.

"Try not to cry too much."She sighs."Your eyes will look swollen in photographs."

And just like that . . . The last little piece of hope disappears.

Gone.

Completely gone.

Not because the comment is particularly cruel. It's not. Not compared to other things.Not compared to years of indifference.It's what the comment means.

What it confirms.She sees the tears.She knows I'm crying.She simply doesn't care why. She doesn't even care enough to show fake sympathy, not that I need any.The realization hurts far more than I expect.

Because all these years later . . . Some stupid part of me was still waiting.

Waiting for my mother to act like a mother. Waiting for my father to act like a father. Waiting for a family that never really existed.

My mother stands.Straightening her dupatta.She walks out the room, the door closes behind her.

And the room becomes silent again.

For a long time I just sit there. Staring at the door. Thinking. Remembering. Understanding. Then slowly, I curl my legs toward my chest. Resting my forehead against my knees.