After six years of adultery, my ex-husband suddenly came back and took custody of my child because his girlfriend was infertile.

The day I signed the divorce papers in New Delhi, I felt I had lost everything. After six years of adultery, my ex-husband — Rohan Malhotra — left me and left me to raise my child alone for another woman. I struggled to play both mother and father in a small rented room in Lajpat Nagar, giving away every drop of sweat in exchange for a carton of milk and a set of clothes for my son – Aarav.

But one afternoon, he suddenly appeared at my door, still looking like a successful man from Gurugram Cyber City, just his eyes different: cold and calculating. He smiled faintly:

— “I’m back. My son has to follow his father. You can’t raise him. ”

I was speechless. How much resentment was stuck in my throat. Did she know that all these years, who had stayed up all night when my child had a fever? Who had skipped the food and fed him? Who has resisted the criticism of “leaving your husband and raising a child alone”?

But he didn’t stop there, he showed a lawyer’s file, his voice was calm:

“People say that a woman is nothing without a man. Ishita Kapoor — who is with me — can’t give birth to a child. Therefore, the child will have to come back to carry forward the lineage of the Malhotra family. The Family Court of Patiala House Court, New Delhi will take my side as my financial condition is better than yours. ”

My ears were ringing, my eyes filled with tears. Turns out that after six years of adultery, I came back not because of the baby, or even because of old feelings — but just because of a child to compensate for my boyfriend’s misfortune.

I stood up, took Aarav’s hand and he stared at the two elders:

— “You’re wrong. The child is not a bargaining chip. Where have you been for the last six years? Who raised him? If you want to take it away, go to court. I’d rather die than have someone take it away from me. ”

That night, I hugged my baby and fell asleep with tears in my eyes. Outside, a fierce legal battle awaited—between an exhausted mother who was determined to keep her child, and a father who suddenly remembered his responsibilities because his girlfriend was infertile.

And I knew that this fight wasn’t just about custody of the child—it was also about saving the honor of the woman who had been betrayed.

On the day of the court hearing, Rohan went to the Family Court (Patiala House Court) with a confident face, a clean suit and holding Ishita’s hand. They sat down, half-smiling as if they were sure that the victory was theirs.

Her lawyer produced several documents: salary slip of a Gurugram-based multinational company, savings account, luxurious apartment in DLF Phase 5, car… And concluded:

— “My client has all the financial means to give the child a good future. At the same time, the plaintiff is a single woman, whose average income is not enough to ensure an ideal living environment for the child. ”

There was a murmur in the entire court. Ishita looked at me, her eyes full of triumph.

I shuddered, but then gathered up the courage to stand up. I showed the documents I had been quietly preparing for weeks: Aarav’s salary slip, his merit certificate from Delhi Public School (R.K. Puram), his admission certificate from AIIMS Delhi, as well as notarized affidavits from neighbours, classroom teachers and the Resident Welfare Association (RWA), confirming that I had raised my child alone.

My voice was hoarse but firm:

— “Sir, where was this man in the last 6 years? When my child had a 40-degree fever and had to be taken to the emergency room in the middle of the night, who had picked up the child and ran away? When my friends teased me for ‘not being a father’, who stayed up all night to comfort me? Now he has returned, not because he loves me, but because his sterile lover needs a child. My child doesn’t make up for their shortcomings. ”

The atmosphere in the room suddenly became quiet. The judge looked at Rohan and asked:

— “Can you prove that in the last six years you have cared for a father, visited someone, or fulfilled a responsibility?”

He stuttered, there were drops of sweat on his forehead. Ishita, who was sitting next to him, gently squeezed his hand, but still it wasn’t enough to save him.

Eventually, the court declared: the custody of the child belongs to me.

Rohan fell on the chair, Ishita walked out in anger. As far as I was concerned, I held Aarav in my arms, tears were flowing, but my heart was at peace.

I know, life is still full of storms, but at the very least, I have preserved my most precious thing – not just my child, but also the pride of an unwavering Indian mother.

When darkness remains a shadow

The night after the verdict, it has been raining lightly in Lajpat Nagar. Aarav and I are sitting on the verandah, mother and son holding cups of hot milk, listening to the sound of the bus leaving the stop. My son is quietly resting his head on my shoulder and whispering:
“Mom, can we sleep now without fear that someone will take me?”
I hug him tighter. “Yes, go to sleep.” I came. ”

But the darkness, as usual, does not go away completely. The next morning, under the door lies a thick, red stamped letter: an appeal. Rohan Malhotra has filed a petition in the Delhi High Court, seeking a review of the custody and visitation rights of the child. In the letter, he writes in cold, harsh terms: “The mother is having a negative impact, separating the child from the father. ”

I put the letter on the table, my hands trembling. Then I quietly call up lawyer Sanya Rao, who has been with me since day one. His voice was calm:
— “Don’t be afraid. The court is in the best interest of the child. We will make arrangements. And if there is to be a meeting, I will ask for a supervised visit at the court’s counseling center. ”

The next week, Aarav and I went to the Family Court Counselling Centre near Patiala House. The room was large, with light-colored spots on the walls and a few cabinets of books and toys. Other mothers and children were scattered about; There was a scratch on every floor that was difficult to fill. The door opened and Rohan came in with Ishita Kapoor. In his hand was a large gift box, the wrapping paper of which was shining; Ishita had a knife-thin smile on her face.

The counsellor sat in the middle, her voice low:
“Today is the first meeting. Our goal is to make Aarav feel safe. ”

Rohan placed the gift box in front of his son:
— “Papa has bought you the latest video game console. When you come home, you’ll have your own room, a bed with a racing car—”

Aarav looked at the gift, then at me. He reached out and pulled the hem of my shirt and shook his head slightly. The girl turned to Rohan and asked very softly:
“Where was Papa when I was put in a breathing tube at AIIMS in Delhi?”
The room was quiet. Rohan was stunned for a moment, but soon
came into his own — “Papa… They were busy at work. But from now on—”
— “When my friend teased me, ‘No, Papa,’ who will stay with me till morning?”
Aarav’s voice was not harsh, as if counting the long nights. Ishita held Rohan’s hand under the table, her nails pricking lightly. The counselor was taking notes, her eyes were serious.

The meeting ended ahead of schedule. Aarav asked to walk outside for a drink. As we walked down the aisle, he grabbed my hand:
“I don’t hate you, Dad. But I’m scared.
“Fear is also a real emotion. Just say it, I’ll listen. — I replied

For the next few days, Rohan was ruthless. She posted on social media to hint that I was “mentally poisoning my child.” Some old friends called and asked questions, some quietly unfriended me. That night, I took a tray of tea to Aunty Sharma’s house – the white-haired woman at the end of the street, who had held Aarav in her lap since she was in a diaper. After listening, he sighed:
— “Daughter, people want to hide the truth by making noise. Just do the right thing. I will talk to the RWA (Resident Welfare Association) so that everyone knows what is happening. As far as the internet is concerned, I’ll take care of that. ”

The next morning, a sign was posted on the RWA’s notice board: “Support for Single-Parent Families—Free Consultation in the Hall on Wednesday Evening.” As I passed by, my two neighbors smiled and nodded. A light, warm smile.

The hearing in the Delhi High Court took place on a sunny day. Rohan asked for unsupervised visits and cuts to previous support, claiming that he had helped “through mental presence”. Hearing this, Sanya Rao pursed her lips slightly.

She brought a copy of the supervised meeting to the court, in which Aarav had expressed his apprehensions, as well as the counsellor’s affidavit: “The child feels insecure living with his father; He needs time and professional routine, not a sudden change in atmosphere.
She also brought school fee receipts, hospital bills and a handwritten letter from the class teacher: “Aarav is well-behaved, but he calms down only when he learns that his mother will come to pick him up in the afternoon. ”

The judge asked Rohan directly:
“Do you have any evidence of regular support or visitation for the last six years?”
Rohan rolled his eyes. Ishita looked down, twirling her plain ring. Finally, he replied:
— “I… I’m busy building my career.
— “Career doesn’t take away the position of father, but you’ve distanced yourself from it.” — said the judge softly.

The court retained custody of the mother, continued supervised visits according to the schedule suggested by the counseling center, and ordered partial child support for years of neglect. The hammer struck. The hallway echoed with footsteps.
Outside the courtroom, Ishita suddenly called out to me:
— “Do you have a minute?”
I looked at Sanya; He nodded. Ishita pulled me into a quiet corner, her voice heavy:
— “I… She can’t have a baby. I thought a child would fill this gap, and I could keep it. But that day at the centre, when Aarav asked about the breathing tube—I realised that I… It was wrong. I don’t want to take the baby away from you anymore. But Rohan is different.
— “How different?”
“On Friday afternoon, he was about to see someone come to pick up Aarav from the school gate — saying it was an ‘unscheduled meeting’. I listened to him. I… I don’t want anything bad to happen. Tell the school. ”

I thanked him, my heart pounding. That evening, I sent a letter to the school and the security guard, along with a copy of the decision; Only my mother had to be picked up from school, and in all other cases I had to call Sanya Rao and the head of security. I messaged Aarav:
“If someone comes to pick you up, run to the principal’s office. Call me right away. On Friday afternoon, as if on cue, a man wearing dark glasses appeared at the school gate and showed the guard a photocopied, blurred piece of paper with Rohan’s name on it. The guard called me into the office; I was already standing there with the principal and two other guards. When the man saw me, he turned away. When he was stopped, he stammered, “It was just a misunderstanding” and left. I fell into a chair, cold sweat running down my spine. Aarav came running and hugged me as if he was hugging the sky that had just fallen.

That night, I watched my son sleep, and suddenly understood: victory in court was just the beginning of a long journey of defense.

After the school gate incident, Rohan was strangely silent. No new posts, no more applications. But that silence was like the lake before the storm. I focused on my work; The head of the department in Gurugram gave me a new project. “You can. Salaries will increase. Diwali is coming soon – let’s light up our home. “I said yes. Aarav was busy drawing the lights and talking about confetti.

One evening, while I was making paper rangoli on the ground, Ishita came again. She was standing at the door, holding a bag of papers in her hand.

“I’m out of Rohan’s house,” she said in a loud voice. “I can’t stand that he is kidding… How does it address titles? Here are the emails and messages he sent to the ‘pick-up’ broker in the past. Give them to a lawyer if you want. ”

I took the bag, surprised and… Full of pity.

“Thank you. ”

Ishita smiled lightly:

“Don’t be thankful. I’m just paying off my conscience. Wishing you and Aarav a peaceful Diwali. ”

On Diwali night, Lajpat Nagar was lit up like a galaxy. Aarav and I decorated the lamps by the window. She whispered:

“I wish we were safe this year. ”

“I wish the same for you. ”

As soon as I lit the last lamp, the phone rang. Sanya Rao:
“I have submitted more evidence about the incident at the school gate. The court has just issued a warning: if Rohan violates the limits of socializing, his right to mingle will be suspended. Just like that, live in peace.
I closed the window and said thank you. The night air smelled of incense and children’s laughter.

But the night wasn’t over yet. Near midnight, I received an unsent email, with only one subject: “I will not give up.” “Inside was the schedule for a Delhi-Dubai flight on Monday morning, the passenger’s name was Rohan Malhotra; It was accompanied by a picture of a new employment contract. In the corner of the picture, on the window pane, was a silhouette of a man holding a phone—and, very vaguely, a second, anonymous flight ticket.

I saw Aarav fast asleep holding a homemade paper lantern. My heart sank and I jumped. If Rohan was planning to leave India to avoid paying alimony, or worse, to plan something at the last minute, I couldn’t have been careless.

I opened my desk drawer and put all the important papers in a hard cover: the judgment, the warning order, the birth certificate, the school records, the insurance and the email set given by Ishita. Then I wrote a note and pasted it on the cover:
“Everything for the safety of Aarav.”
Outside, Diwali firecrackers were bursting in the Delhi sky. In the small room in Lajpat Nagar, I sat next to my son, listening to his every breath. The flame of the small lamps was still burning continuously. I knew the storm could return—in a new form, with a new plot. But I also knew that a mother’s love is not a candle that goes out easily.

I touched the file cover and closed my eyes. The third part of this fight could have started at the airport, in the courtroom, or right in front of the school gate. I was ready wherever I was — not to win, but to keep my son safe.