“…you, Charulata.”
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood.
“Me?”Nandkumar nodded.
“Bhaskar told me to bring Gaurika here because her father had been searching for you.”
My husband had been dead for four years.
I had never met Avinash before that morning.
And yet someone had been looking for me.
“Why?” I whispered.
Nandkumar’s eyes filled with tears.
“Because you were the only person who could tell him what happened to his wife.”
Avinash went completely still.
“My wife?”
The words came out like a warning.
Nandkumar turned toward his son.
“Your wife didn’t abandon Gaurika, beta.”
Avinash’s face changed.
“Papa, don’t.”
“She was forced away.”
“Enough!”
Gaurika began crying.
I immediately pulled her close.
“Please,” I said sharply. “Not in front of the child.”
Avinash looked at his daughter.
For a moment, something like shame crossed his face.
Then he turned toward his father.
“Where is the red box?”
Nandkumar closed his eyes.
I watched the old man’s breathing become uneven.
He had undergone surgery only the previous day. His body was exhausted, and the strain was plainly hurting him.
I pressed the nurse’s call button.
“Whatever is inside that box can wait until Joshi ji is stable.”
Avinash stepped forward.
“This concerns my family.”
I looked him directly in the eyes.
“Then start behaving like someone who cares whether his father survives.”
He stopped.
A nurse entered and asked us to leave while she checked Nandkumar.
I took Gaurika into the corridor.
She held my hand tightly.
“Aunty?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Is my mummy coming back?”
My heart tightened.
“I don’t know yet, beta.”
She looked down.
“Papa says she left because she didn’t want us.”
I knelt before her.
“Has anyone ever shown you proof of that?”
She shook her head.
“Then please don’t decide it must be true.”
She wrapped her arms around my neck.
And I felt something inside me break.
A nine-year-old child should not have to wonder whether she is worth coming home for.
That afternoon, Avinash left the hospital without saying goodbye.
Nandkumar was finally resting.
Before I went home, I asked the ward supervisor to ensure his visitors did not overwhelm him and requested assistance from the hospital social worker for Gaurika.
Then I called my daughter, Vedika.
She lived in Bengaluru and worked as an advocate.
I told her everything.
She listened carefully.
Then said, “Mamma, don’t open anyone’s private documents without permission. But if Mr. Joshi wants help protecting the child, I can speak with him.”
I looked toward the hospital room.
“He’s frightened of his own son.”
There was silence.
Then Vedika said, “Bring Gaurika home tonight. I’ll come tomorrow.”
The next morning, she arrived carrying a small suitcase and the same determined expression her father used to wear when something troubled him.
She hugged me tightly.
Then looked at Gaurika, who was sitting at my dining table colouring a picture.
“Hello,” Vedika said warmly. “I’m Charulata Aunty’s daughter.”
Gaurika looked up.
“Do you also teach mathematics?”
Vedika laughed.
“Fortunately, no.”
For the first time in days, the child giggled.
We visited Nandkumar that afternoon.
He looked relieved when he saw Vedika.
“I knew your father was a good man,” he whispered.
My daughter sat beside him.
“Joshi ji, my mother says you have something important to tell her.”
He nodded.
Then looked at me.
“Charulata beti, Bhaskar asked me to keep a letter safe.”
“Why you?”
“Because I was his former college friend. He trusted me after helping my family through a difficult time.”
I stared at him.
“What happened to Gaurika’s mother?”
His hands trembled.
“Her name is Mrinalini.”
Avinash’s estranged wife.
I knew almost nothing about her.
Only that Gaurika believed she had disappeared years earlier.
Nandkumar continued.
“Mrinalini worked as an accountant for a charitable trust. She discovered suspicious transfers involving a contractor and some of the trust’s funds.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with Bhaskar?”
He looked at me sadly.
“Your husband was helping the trust review its accounts.”
My chest tightened.
I remembered Bhaskar spending several evenings at his desk shortly before his death.
He had told me he was helping an old friend with some financial records.
At the time, I had barely listened.
We had been planning our anniversary trip.
Then he died suddenly.
Everything else disappeared beneath grief.
Nandkumar swallowed.
“Bhaskar discovered that the contractor’s company had connections to Avinash’s business.”
Vedika leaned forward.
“Was Avinash accused of wrongdoing?”
Nandkumar shook his head.
“Bhaskar didn’t know how much Avinash knew. He wanted an independent investigation.”
I looked at the old man.
“And Mrinalini?”
“She was afraid the records would be destroyed. She began receiving threats.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened to her?”
Nandkumar closed his eyes.
