Chapter 10: The Truth He Did Not Want to Hear

The night had settled heavily over the Thakur mansion.

Everything was quiet, but inside Veeresh’s room, the silence felt different.

It felt disturbed.

He stood near the table, the file still open, his thoughts nowhere near business, nowhere near numbers.

A soft knock broke the stillness.

“Come in,” he said, his voice calm again.

Yashoda walked in, followed by Rajeev. There was something serious in their expressions, something that did not belong to an ordinary conversation.

Veeresh noticed it immediately.

“What is it?” he asked.

Yashoda did not sit.

She looked at him directly and said, “We have created a profile for you.”

For a second, the words did not register.

Then they did.

Veeresh’s expression hardened.

“Mom,” he said, his voice controlled but firm, “how could you?”

There was disbelief in his tone.

Not loud.

But sharp.

Yashoda stepped forward, her eyes filled not with anger, but with something stronger.

Pain.

Before he could say anything more, her hand rose and landed across his cheek.

The sound echoed in the room.

Rajeev closed his eyes briefly.

Veeresh stood still.

He did not react immediately.

Not because it did not affect him.

But because he was not expecting it.

“Have you seen Mannat?” Yashoda’s voice trembled, but it did not lose its strength. “Have you really seen her?”

Veeresh’s jaw tightened. “I take care of her.”

“Taking care is not enough,” she said immediately. “She is one year old, Veeresh. One year. She has grown without her mother’s milk, without her mother’s touch.”

Her voice broke slightly, but she continued.

“Do you know what that means for a child?”

Veeresh looked away.

Just for a second.

But she noticed.

“She needs warmth,” Yashoda said, her voice softer now but deeper. “She needs someone who holds her when she cries, not just someone who ensures she is safe.”

“I am there,” Veeresh replied, his tone firm again. “I am enough for her.”

“No,” Yashoda said.

The word was quiet.

But absolute.

“You are not.”

Silence filled the room.

Heavy.

Uncomfortable.

Real.

“You are a good father,” she continued, stepping closer to him. “But you cannot be her mother.”

The truth landed harder than the slap.

“There are things a child needs that you cannot give, no matter how much you try,” she said gently now. “The way a mother understands without words, the way she comforts, the way she becomes a child’s first world.”

Veeresh’s hands clenched slightly.

He did not like where this was going.

“I am not asking you to forget Ridhima,” Yashoda said, her voice softening further. “Do you think I could ever ask that of you?”

His eyes flickered at the name.

For a moment, something inside him moved.

“She was my daughter too,” Yashoda added quietly. “I lost her as well.”

The room went still again.

“But life did not stop,” Rajeev spoke this time, his tone calm but firm. “And Mannat’s life has just begun.”

Veeresh looked at him.

“You are holding on to your pain,” Rajeev continued, “and in that process, you are forgetting her needs.”

“I am not forgetting her,” Veeresh said, his voice low now.

“Then look at her again,” Yashoda said gently. “Not as a responsibility. Not as your world. Look at her as a child who is missing something she does not even know how to ask for.”

Her words did not accuse him.

They revealed something.

Something he had not allowed himself to see.

“You are being selfish, Veeresh,” she said finally.

This time, the word did not sound harsh.

It sounded true.

Veeresh did not reply.

He stood there, silent, his mind restless for the first time in a long while.

“I am enough,” he repeated, but the certainty in his voice had weakened.

Yashoda shook her head slowly.

“You are trying to be everything,” she said. “But sometimes, love means accepting that you cannot do it alone.”

A long pause followed.

No one spoke.

Because there was nothing left to argue.

Only something to understand.

Yashoda stepped closer and placed her hand on his cheek, the same place she had slapped him.

Her touch was gentle now.

“Think about Mannat,” she whispered. “Not about your fear. Not about your past.”

A tear slipped from her eye.

“Think about her future.”

Veeresh closed his eyes for a brief moment.

And for the first time since that day,

He did not feel in control.

He felt torn.