Her voice trembled.
“But love cannot survive being treated like furniture.”
I covered my face.
She waited.
Then said the words that ended my marriage.
“I want to live, Shashi. And I don’t want to spend whatever time I have left waiting for you to choose me.”
I nodded.
Because for the first time in years, I understood that loving someone did not give me the right to keep them.
Kaveri recovered slowly.
She needed cardiac rehabilitation.
Medication.
Follow-up appointments.
Vaidehi arranged everything.
Pradyumna took leave from work.
Mrinalini stayed with her.
I offered to help.
Sometimes Kaveri accepted.
Sometimes she didn’t.
I learned not to argue.
The investigation continued.
Pradyumna Sethi was arrested on charges connected to financial fraud and intimidation.
The old warehouse fire was reopened for further examination.
Yamini cooperated with investigators after obtaining legal counsel.
Her role in the financial transfers remained under scrutiny.
My accountant was suspended pending the audit.
I gave the police every record they requested.
For the first time, I stopped worrying about what people would say.
I worried about what was true.
One evening, Vaidehi found me sitting outside the hospital garden.
She sat beside me.
“Papa?”
“Yes?”
“Do you still love Amma?”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Then why did you hurt her?”
I stared at my hands.
“Because I was selfish.”
She waited.
“I liked being admired. I liked feeling important. I wanted the comfort of a marriage and the excitement of something new.”
My voice broke.
“And I convinced myself nobody was suffering because I wasn’t looking at the suffering.”
Vaidehi wiped her eyes.
“Amma almost died.”
“I know.”
“She might have died believing you didn’t care.”
I began crying.
“I know.”
She stood.
“I don’t know when I’ll forgive you.”
I nodded.
“You don’t have to decide now.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then walked away.
I watched her go.
And understood that remorse was not a punishment someone imposed on me.
It was the beginning of responsibility.
Six months later, Kaveri moved into a small house near Vaidehi’s apartment in Bengaluru.
The divorce proceedings had begun.
We agreed to divide our assets fairly.
I did not contest her decision.
She took her jewelry.
Her books.
Her mother’s old brass diya.
And the wedding photograph she had carried in her handbag for thirty-one years.
I was surprised when she took that.
“Why?” I asked.
She looked at the photograph.
“Because the woman in this picture deserves to be remembered.”
I stared at her.
“She was happy.”
“Yes.”
Kaveri smiled sadly.
“And she believed she would always be loved.”
I could not speak.
She placed the photograph in her suitcase.
Then left.
I stood in the doorway long after the car disappeared.
The house was quiet.
The pressure cooker sat unused.
Her medicines were gone from the kitchen shelf.
The cupboard smelled faintly of jasmine soap.
And for the first time, I understood how much of my life had been built by someone I had stopped noticing.
A year after the heart attack, the police informed us that new evidence had emerged concerning Bhaskar’s death.
A former warehouse employee had preserved copies of safety complaints Bhaskar filed before the fire.
The records suggested that Pradyumna Sethi had concealed hazardous storage violations.
Investigators also found evidence of deliberate interference with warehouse safety equipment.
The case proceeded through the courts.
I attended every hearing I was required to attend.
Not because it could bring my brother back.
But because he deserved the truth.
Kaveri attended one hearing too.
She sat beside Vaidehi.
When I saw her, my heart tightened.
She looked healthier.
Her hair was shorter.
She wore a blue cotton saree.
And she was smiling at something our daughter had said.
I realized I had not seen that smile in years.
Afterward, I approached her.
“How are you?”
“Better.”
“Your heart?”
“Still working.”
She smiled faintly.
I almost laughed.
Then I said, “Thank you.”
She looked confused.
“For what?”
“For finding out what happened to Bhaskar.”
Her expression softened.
“He was my brother too.”
I nodded.
We stood in silence.
Then she said, “Take care of yourself, Shashi.”
I looked at her.
“You too.”
She walked away.
I did not ask her to come back.
That was the first genuinely loving thing I had done for her in a very long time.
Two years later, Vaidehi married.
The wedding was small.
Held in Bengaluru.
Kaveri wore a green silk saree and looked radiant.
I attended quietly.
I sat with relatives.
I helped with arrangements when asked.
I did not insist on standing beside Kaveri for photographs.
When the ceremony ended, Vaidehi came to me.
“Papa.”
I stood.
She hugged me.
For the first time since the hospital, she hugged me without hesitation.
I began crying.
