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Third person’s pov!

“If you are willing to do as I say, you can stay here as my wife, Mahima. I will bury you in my love. You will have everything—this house, my heart, my name. You can live like a queen.”
He took a step closer. “But if you can’t accept my one condition… then return that nuptial chain. Walk away. Leave this house. Leave me.”

Arjun placed the divorce papers on the table.

Mahima looked up at him, her gaze steady, unwavering. Her eyes—once filled with warmth for the man standing before her—were now devoid of emotion. Not a single tear betrayed her resolve. Her heart had hardened long before this moment.

She slowly let her eyes sweep across the room.

Her parents stood to the side, watching her with bated breath. Her brother hovered near them, lips pressed in a grim line, as if he too awaited her submission. And then there was Anika—her brother’s wife, her husband’s cherished sister—staring not at Mahima, but at the infant nestled quietly in her arms.

A bitter scoff almost escaped her lips.

They were all waiting. Waiting for her to bow her head. To give up her daughter. To erase her own motherhood, as if it were some mistake to be corrected.

A self-deprecating smile curled at her lips. Of course they were.

She looked down at the two months old baby she held—her daughter, her blood, her soul. And then, slowly, her gaze fell to the slender chain around her neck. The thaali. The sacred thread of marriage that Arjun had tied a year ago—not out of love, but as a bargain. A daughter for a daughter. She had been the price to ensure Anika’s happiness in her husband’s home.

Always second. 

That thought echoed in her mind like a cruel lullaby. Second to Anika at her husband’s house. Second to her brother in her own home, where she had been raised to believe that her worth lay in silence and sacrifice.

She inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the baby in her arms for a brief moment. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, she raised her hand to her neck.

She unhooked the chain with one hand—graceful, effortless.

Arjun’s breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened as the gold chain slipped from her fingers and landed on the floor with a faint, final clink.

He hadn’t expected this. Not really.

“Mahi…” Sudha’s voice broke the silence—low, trembling with disbelief.

But Mahima didn’t turn. She didn’t flinch. Her mother’s voice held no weight now. None of them did.

Her eyes remained on the gold chain lying lifeless on the floor. The very chain they thought would bind her to silence forever. A sad smile touched her lips—self-deprecating, bitter.

No one in this room was hers. Not truly.

Not her mother, who looked at her like she had committed a sin.
Not her father, who stood quietly, his gaze averted, as though shame could excuse complicity.
Not her brother, whose silence screamed louder than any spoken betrayal.

And certainly not Arjun.

Only one soul belonged to her—Mannat, the tiny bundle she held close to her chest. Her baby. Her only true bond. Her reason to live.

And now, they were asking her to give that up too.

Why?

Because Anika—Arjun's precious sister, her brother’s wife—had lost her unborn child in a tragic accident. And with it, lost the chances to ever conceive again. But not completely, have she?

Mahima didn’t need anyone to tell her what had happened next. She could imagine it all.
Anika, shattered, had gone straight to her brother—Arjun. She cried, pleaded. And he, without hesitation, had promised her Mahima’s baby. Their baby.

Not once had he come to Mahima. Not once had he asked what she wanted. He had simply decided.

Like he always did.

Mahima finally turned to him, her voice steel-edged, eyes glinting with cold finality. She picked the nuptial chain from the floor.

“Here is your nuptial chain,” she said, her tone hard, unflinching. She took a step forward and extended her hand. “In return, I want it in writing that you give up every right over my child. I want a legal document that says you will never show up in front of my daughter and call yourself her father.”

Her words sliced through the air like a blade.

Arjun stared at her. He blinked, once. Twice. As though trying to register the woman before him.

This… wasn’t his Mahima.

This wasn’t the quiet girl who followed him wordlessly, who waited for him to speak, to decide.

This wasn’t the woman who bent herself in half to please everyone around her. This woman was unrecognizable—fierce, unyielding, unapologetically standing her ground.

He swallowed hard. His throat burned with unsaid words, with the weight of what he had done.

“Mahima…” he whispered, barely able to breathe.

But her eyes didn’t soften. They only narrowed.

For the first time, she had the power. And he was the one watching everything slip through his fingers.

He wanted to beg. He wanted to explain. But one glance at Anika, broken and pale in the corner of the room, steeled him again.

She had clutched his hand and cried in despair. She had begged him to give her this one thing—his baby.

Their baby.

Mahima could have another, he had reasoned. They would move on. This was a compromise… a necessary one.

And he had assumed, as always, that Mahima would obey.

That she would give quietly. Sacrifice silently.

That she wouldn’t dare to say no.

But she had.

And with that one word, she had shattered everything he thought he controlled.

Mahima looked at each face in the room once more.

Arjun stood frozen, his fist clenched tightly around the nuptial chain—the one he had tied around her neck with promises. It now lay limp and meaningless in his hand, its weight suddenly unbearable.

His gaze snapped back to Mahima.

She didn’t hesitate. Not even for a second.

Her pen moved swiftly across the paper, her signature bold and unshaken—severing not just their marriage, but the last thread of hope he was clinging to.

And then her voice came—clear, resolute, final.

“I agreed to all your demands,” she said coldly. “Now, I never want to see you or your sister ever again.”

Arjun’s heart clenched.

She hadn’t cried. She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t even paused.

The woman he loved… The woman who once looked at him like he was her world… was now looking through him, like he was a stranger. Like he was nothing.

Tears stung his eyes.

How did it come to this?

Mahima, meanwhile, felt nothing but numb. She had made peace with this the moment they asked her to hand over her child—as though she were merely a surrogate, not a mother. As though her feelings, her bond, her identity didn’t matter.

If Anika had been different—kinder, selfless, maternal—maybe Mahima would have paused. Maybe she would have at least considered. But she knew Anika. She had seen the truth in her eyes.

And there was no way she would ever entrust her daughter to that woman.

Before anyone else could speak, her father’s voice cut through the silence, laced with righteous anger.

“What arrogance is this, Mahi? You think we will support your decision? Breaking your nuptial chain—it’s a sin!”

Mahima’s jaw tightened, but her face remained impassive.

A sin?

As if allowing her child to be handed over like property wasn’t.

Her mother stepped forward, arms crossed. 

“This house belongs to Mohit,” Sudha said, voice sharp. “You think after refusing to give your brother and his wife this child, you can continue living here?”

There it was. The final strike.

But Mahima didn’t flinch.

“Don’t worry, Maa,” she said, voice calm—eerily calm. “I won’t be a burden to anyone. I will be here only until everything is legalised properly.”

The room went still.

No one defended her. No one stopped her. Not even her brother, who stood there with guilt in his eyes but silence on his lips.

So Mahima turned.

With her daughter clutched protectively in her arms…
With her head held high and her dignity intact…

She walked away.

And in that silence—thick with judgment, betrayal, and shattered bonds—her footsteps were the loudest sound in the room.

“Bhaiyya…” Anika’s voice trembled as she sat beside Arjun, tears clinging to her lashes, her expression a carefully crafted picture of heartbreak.

Arjun’s chest tightened at the sight.

His sister’s pain cut deeper than his own. The sorrow in her eyes made him grit his teeth, the image of Mahima walking away flashing before him again—his wife, his daughter, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Why couldn’t Mahima understand?

They could have another child. They had time, health, and youth. But Anika… she had lost everything in a single cruel twist of fate. Her unborn child. Her ability to become a mother again.

“Arjun,” Mohit’s voice broke the silence. He stood nearby, his brow furrowed in helplessness. “What can we do now?”

Before Arjun could respond, Anika reached for his hand. “Sign the papers, bhaiyya.”

“What?” His head snapped toward her, startled.

“Trust me,” Anika said, her voice low, soft, layered with persuasion. “Just listen to me. Bhabhi has never lived a single day outside the safety of this house. She has never stepped into the world on her own. She doesn’t know how to survive without support.”

Arjun stayed silent, absorbing her words.

“She will come back,” Anika added gently. “Once she has seen how hard life is without you… without your name… she will realise what she has lost. She will come back to you, bhaiyya. And this time, she will agree. You will have your wife. I can have the baby.”

She blinked rapidly, letting a tear roll down her cheek for effect.

Arjun wavered.

He had married Mahima to secure Anika’s happiness—to ensure his sister never faced neglect in her husband’s home. But somewhere along the way, Mahima had become more than just a compromise. She had become the center of his quiet dreams. Her soft voice, her gentle presence, the way she looked at him with quiet trust—it had all worked its way into his heart before he even realised it.

And yet… she walked away.

No hesitation. No tears. She just walked away from him with their child like he meant nothing.

“Do you really think she will come back?” He asked, eyes searching Anika’s for hope.

“Yes, bhaiyya. Bhabhi loves you. She just doesn’t realise how much she needs you—yet.”

“And you love her too. So fight smart, not emotional.” Anika leaned closer. 

Her words settled into Arjun’s mind like a poison disguised as comfort.

“We will get it done immediately. I will have the legal team finalise everything.” Mohit, ever the efficient lawyer, caught on quickly. 

And just like that, with pain in his heart and hope clutched in his chest, Arjun agreed.

What he didn’t see was the glint of victory in Anika’s eyes.

For her, it wasn’t about love, or loss, or even Mahima. It was not even about the baby. It was about her stubbornness.

And she had just made sure the game was rigged in her favour.

A/N

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