Chapter 2: The Shame in Her Eyes
For five years, Maya had been the warmth in my home.
She was the woman who filled our kitchen with cardamom tea, who laughed softly at old films, who pressed her cold feet against mine in winter and called it marriage tax.
Now she looked like a ghost the hospital had forgotten in a corner.
I walked toward her slowly, afraid that any sudden movement might make the vision disappear. The corridor seemed to narrow around me. The air grew thick, heavy with antiseptic and something I could not name.
When she finally looked up, recognition passed through her face.
Not joy.
Shame.
Deep, weary shame.
“Arjun?” she whispered.
Her voice barely rose above the ventilation system.
I knelt in front of her, the flowers hanging uselessly from my hand.
My fingers hovered near hers, terrified that if I touched her, she might shatter.
“Maya,” I said. “What happened?”… Continue Reading ⬇️