Brought my grandchildren.
Sat beside me on Harivansh’s death anniversary.
And all that time, he had carried a secret about his father.
I felt betrayed.
But I also remembered Shashidhar’s grip on my wrist.
His threats.
The way he had known my son’s name before meeting me.
Whatever Avinash had hidden, the danger was real.
My son arrived shortly after midnight.
He looked exhausted.
The moment he entered, he hugged me.
“Amma, are you hurt?”
I showed him my wrist.
His face changed.
“That man touched you?”
I nodded.
Avinash stepped backward.
For a moment, I thought he might break something.
Then he covered his face.
“This is what Papa was afraid of.”
I looked at him.
“Sit down.”
He obeyed.
I placed Harivansh’s letter on the table.
“Tell me everything.”
Avinash took a long breath.
“Papa contacted me about six months before he died.”
“Why you?”
“Because I work in finance. He wanted help understanding some transactions.”
I stared at him.
“And you found something?”
He nodded.
“Payments from the education trust had gone to companies that existed mostly on paper. Some invoices appeared to be duplicated. Other payments were supported by questionable documents.”
“Was Shashidhar involved?”
“The records suggested that companies connected to him benefited.”
I swallowed.
“Did Papa report it?”
“Yes. He had already contacted a lawyer and provided information to the authorities.”
My heart tightened.
“Then why wasn’t anything done?”
“Some inquiries began. But there were disputes about the records, and people connected to the trust denied wrongdoing.”
He lowered his eyes.
“Then Papa died.”
I stared at him.
“Was his death really a heart attack?”
Avinash looked directly at me.
“The doctors diagnosed a heart attack. We have no evidence that Shashidhar caused it.”
I closed my eyes.
I was grateful he had not tried to frighten me with speculation.
But the truth was frightening enough.
“Why did you keep the documents hidden?” I asked.
Avinash hesitated.
“Papa asked me to preserve them and give them to the lawyer if necessary.”
“Why not tell me?”
“He believed Shashidhar might pressure you if he knew you had information.”
I felt tears rising.
“And you agreed?”
Avinash nodded.
“I thought I was protecting you.”
I looked at him.
“Your father spent thirty-four years treating me as his partner.”
My voice broke.
“And you decided I couldn’t be trusted with the truth?”
He lowered his head.
“I’m sorry, Amma.”
I stared at him.
“You should be.”
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked, “What did Shashidhar want from you?”
Avinash looked exhausted.
“He wanted the original records.”
“Why?”
“Because they may be important evidence. He claimed Papa had misunderstood the transactions and demanded that I hand everything over.”
I remembered the brown folder.
The photographs.
The threats.
“He used a companionship group to find me.”
Avinash nodded.
“I think he did.”
I felt sick.
Six weeks of messages.
Photographs of roses.
Stories about a dead wife.
Gentle phone calls.
He had studied my loneliness and used it to get close to me.
The next morning, we met Advocate Charulata Sen, the lawyer who had worked with Harivansh.
She was a composed woman in her fifties.
When she saw me, her expression softened.
“Mrs. Kulkarni, your husband spoke about you often.”
My eyes filled.
She invited us to sit.
Avinash handed her the storage receipt.
She nodded.
“The originals are still secured.”
I looked at her.
“Did my husband know he was in danger?”
She considered her answer carefully.
“He knew he had received threats. He documented them.”
I swallowed.
“Did he tell the police?”
“Yes.”
She opened a file.
“Your husband’s information formed part of a larger financial investigation. Some matters remained unresolved after his death.”
I looked at the documents.
“Then why is Shashidhar contacting my son now?”
Charulata’s expression hardened.
“Because investigators recently requested additional records. Shashidhar may believe Avinash controls information that could damage his position.”
I thought about the house.
The locked gate.
His hand around my wrist.
“And he decided to use me.”
She nodded.
“That appears consistent with what you’ve described.”
Then Charulata asked a question I had not expected.
“Mrs. Kulkarni, did Shashidhar mention his wife?”
I shook my head.
“He said she died.”
Charulata exchanged a glance with Avinash.
My heart began pounding.
“What?”
She spoke carefully.
“Mrinal is alive.”
I stared at her.
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“She has been living separately for several years.”
I gripped the chair.
“Then he lied about being a widower?”
“Yes.”
I felt something inside me collapse.
I had stood before Harivansh’s photograph and asked permission to have coffee with another man.
I had worried that my children might judge me.
I had felt guilty for wanting companionship.
And the man I met had not even been honest about whether his wife was alive.
