Chapter 47 – A Name That Stayed Unsaid

The room was quiet after she returned, but the silence didn’t feel peaceful. Devki closed the door slowly, her hand still resting on the handle for a moment longer than needed, as if something outside had stayed behind. Then she walked in, sat on the edge of the bed, and the moment she was alone, the strength she carried in front of everyone slipped.

Her eyes filled.

“Mrs Thakur…” she whispered to herself, the words echoing back in the emptiness.

Once… it used to be different.

Her mind drifted without control, pulling her back to a time when things were softer, when Nirmala had placed a newborn in her arms with complete trust, smiling weakly but happily. “Take care of him,” she had said, and Devki had nodded without hesitation, holding that tiny child close like he was her own.

Veeresh.

He had held her finger with his tiny hand.
He had cried for her.
He had called her—

“Mumma…”

A broken breath left her lips.

“When did that change?” she whispered, though she already knew the answer wasn’t simple. It hadn’t happened in a day. It had happened slowly… distance growing where closeness once lived, silence replacing words, years building walls neither of them broke.

Now—

“Mrs Thakur.”

The words hurt more than she admitted.

She stood up and walked to the small table near the window, picking up Nirmala’s photograph with trembling fingers. Her thumb brushed over it gently. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking now, no one there to hear it. “I couldn’t be a mother to Veeresh… or Rajeshwari the way you trusted me to be.”

Her eyes closed for a second.

“You believed in me… and I failed.”

Tears slipped down quietly.

“But…” she continued, looking at the photograph again, a faint, fragile smile appearing through the pain, “he chose well.”

A pause.

“His wife… she is good.”

She exhaled slowly, wiping her tears but they didn’t stop completely. “You would have liked her,” she murmured. “She has strength… and heart.”

Her gaze lowered for a moment.

“I’m alone here,” she added softly, the truth finally slipping out. “You both left me… and I’m still here.”

Silence answered her.

After a while, she sat back down, still holding the photograph. “I’m waiting,” she whispered, almost like a prayer. “Just once… I want to hear him call me mumma again.”

Her eyes filled again, but this time she didn’t wipe them.

“And Veda…” her voice softened, “she found a mother in Poornima.” A faint nod followed, like she was accepting it. “I heard… she even took those medicines… just to feed her.”

Something in that touched her deeply.

“I miss you,” she whispered finally, holding the photograph closer.

The room stayed silent.

Only her quiet sobs filled it.