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“Simran, stop.” My voice is sharper now, my hands gripping her arms. But she pulls away, her emotions spiralling further out of control.

“No, Vishnu, you listen to me!” she cries. “Today’s incident was an eye-opener. When I saw those blood stains on the scarf, my first thought was Veer.” Her voice breaks as she says our son’s name. “If that masked man wants to hurt me, he could also try to hurt my son... What if he did something to Veer?”

I grip her arms firmly, my protective instincts kicking in.

“I won’t let him touch Veer or you,” I declare vehemently. “Stop thinking like this. It could just be some jealous competitor who can’t handle seeing a strong, independent woman like you succeed.”

She pulls away from my touch, and her next words are filled with bitter self-loathing.

“Exactly... my success, my dreams, my independence. They were the three reasons that made me choose this life. The three things because of which I didn’t tell you about my pregnancy. Today made me realise how much I’ve risked everything.” Her tears fall faster now. “I’m sorry, Vishnu... I’m so sorry for what I did to you.”

My chest tightens, watching her break down completely.

“I don’t want this success... this independence... I don’t want to achieve my dreams if this is what it means. Living in fear of losing my loved ones.”

I try to reach for her again, but she steps back, her voice becoming more frantic.

“I was such a fool to choose my dreams, my career over everything else, and I risked everything that truly mattered. I risked our son’s life too. If something had happened to me or Veer before you came to New York, who would I blame? Also, anything could have happened if you weren’t here to protect me now. And all this for what?” She’s practically sobbing now. “All this happened because of my own selfish choices... I had no right to risk Veer’s life.”

Standing here, watching the strongest woman I know break down like this, I feel my own walls crumbling. Her pain, her guilt, her fear—it’s all laid bare before me. In this moment, I realise that my own inability to forgive, to let go, has contributed to this breakdown. The woman I have always desired is falling apart before my eyes, and I’m partly responsible for it.

All the anger and hurt I’ve been holding onto about her keeping Veer from me suddenly feels insignificant in the face of her raw anguish. Right now, I don’t see the woman who kept my son from me—I see the mother of my child, terrified for our son’s safety and drowning in a sea of regret and self-blame. And in that instant, something inside me shifts, irrevocably.

My heart nearly stops when Simran suddenly drops to her knees on the cold kitchen floor, her hands folded in a desperate plea. The sight of her—this proud, independent woman begging for forgiveness, shatters something inside me.

“I am sorry, Vishnu... I made a huge mistake. I am sorry,” she sobs, her voice heavy with regret. Each word is raw, broken, and filled with emotion as tears fall freely down her face and onto her trembling hands.

My chest tightens painfully as I drop down in front of her, grabbing her wrists to move her hands away from her tear-streaked face. Her desperation, her regret, her anguish—it’s unbearable.

“What’s wrong with you, Simran? Calm down...” I say, trying to steady her. The urge to pull her into my arms is overwhelming, but I force myself to stay still, to let her speak. “For God’s sake, stop it.”

But she’s beyond reasoning now, tears streaming endlessly, leaving trails on her cheeks that glisten in the kitchen’s harsh light.

“It is because of me. I can see it... I can see it all very clearly now.” Her voice catches on a sob, and her entire body shakes with the force of her emotions. “I realise the pain I have caused you. I should have told you about my pregnancy the moment I found out.”

Her words tumble out in a rush of emotion, like a dam finally bursting after years of pressure.

“I knew you’d want the baby just as much as I did. There was never any doubt.” Her fingers grip mine tighter as if afraid I’ll pull away. “But I still... I still kept it from you… I was scared—scared of losing myself, my identity, my hard work in the sea of responsibilities once I told you about my pregnancy. Now I know that I should’ve discussed my dreams and my career with you, instead of running away the way I did.”

I flinch at her words, guilt and anger warring inside me. Seeing her like this—completely falling apart—is not what I wanted. I never ever want to see her like this.

“Simran,” I start, but she doesn’t let me finish.

“And despite what I did, you’re still here,” she whispers, her voice trembling with disbelief. “You’re protecting me, standing like a shield between me and this threat. You didn’t have to do this for me, Vishnu. Not after what I did to you. Yet, here you are. And it’s killing me—this guilt. It’s drowning me.”

Something shifts in her eyes. I can almost see her retreating into her painful memories.

“Ever since I was small, I have always been alone,” she says, pressing her hands to her temples. “From the moment my parents passed, I had no one—no relatives, no well-wishers. No one to guide me or share my decisions with. I grew up in a world where every choice, whether right or wrong, was mine to make. I owned my independence, my freedom, but it also made me blind.”

My heart clenches as she continues, painting a picture of a lonely child burdened with adult responsibilities far too soon. Each word adds another layer to the woman I thought I knew, helping me understand her in ways I never had before.

“I had all the freedom in the world. No one to tell me what I should do or shouldn’t do.” Her voice breaks slightly. “All my friends needed their parents’ permission for something as simple as a school picnic, but I didn’t. Sometimes... sometimes I wished I had someone to say no to me, to guide me, to care enough to set limits.”

Her words about growing up alone—without family, cousins, or the guidance of the elders—hit me differently now. I see her in a new light, and for the first time, I truly understand why she values her independence so fiercely, why she’s always been so self-reliant. It wasn’t a choice—it was the only way to survive.

“I took responsibility for all my decisions,” she continues, “and that’s how I justified this one too—coming to New York, keeping my pregnancy a secret. I thought I was doing the right thing, Vishnu. But I was wrong. This wasn’t just my decision to make. It was ours. You had a right to Veer too. And I robbed you of that. I robbed you of the chance to decide, to be there for him from the very beginning.”

When she mentions our son, her entire body seems to crumble under the weight of her guilt, as though her choices are crushing her from within. My hands instinctively tighten on her shoulders, and it’s only when I feel her shiver beneath my touch that I realise how tightly I’m holding her.