Chapter 46: Veeresh — The Two Days I Punished Myself

Veeresh’s POV

I left before sunrise.

Not because I had work.
Not because I had courage.

I left because I was ashamed to look at her.

The moment my hand touched her face yesterday, something inside me shattered—something I didn’t even know could break. I have raised my voice before. I have been angry before. But I had never crossed that line.

And I did.

With her.

The woman who trusted me.
The woman who healed my children.
The woman who chose me despite her past.

I didn’t leave to escape responsibility.
I left because I didn’t trust myself near her anger, her silence, her tears.

If I stayed, I might have begged.
If I stayed, I might have broken down.
If I stayed, I might have forced forgiveness I didn’t deserve.

So I drove.

Miles. Roads. Empty highways that felt quieter than my mind.

Every signal reminded me of her waiting.
Every speed breaker felt like guilt hitting my chest.

I checked my phone a hundred times.

No missed calls.

That hurt more than anything.

Day One

I sat in a hotel room that smelled nothing like home.

No coffee the way she makes it.
No kids shouting.
No one reminding me to eat.

I replayed the moment again and again.

Her falling.
Her eyes—more shocked than hurt.
The way she said “Give me space.”

Paul’s shadow haunted me.

What if I became what broke her once?
What if I was the man she feared becoming real again?

I punched the wall.

“I am not him,” I said aloud.
“But yesterday… I looked like him.”

I didn’t sleep.

Day Two

Morning came, cruel and slow.

I imagined her waking up alone.
Making breakfast quietly.
Kissing the kids’ heads with a forced smile.

The thought destroyed me.

I wanted to call.
I stopped myself.

If I called and she cried, I’d break.
If she sounded distant, I’d die.

I met lawyers. Signed papers. Fought cases. Won arguments.

But lost myself completely.

Every woman I passed reminded me of her strength.
Every laugh reminded me of what I might lose.

By evening, I knew one thing with certainty:

If I didn’t go back changed,
I didn’t deserve to go back at all.

I stood in front of the mirror and said it clearly:

“I will never raise my hand again.
Not in anger.
Not in fear.
Not ever.”

“If I lose my temper, I walk away.
If I feel rage, I stay silent.
If I break her trust again, I don’t deserve her love.”

That night, lying alone, I whispered into the dark:

“Poornima…
I’m not running from you.
I’m fighting myself for you.”

“I’ll come back.
Not to ask forgiveness—
but to earn it.”

And for the first time in two days…
I slept.