The wife had just given birth to a son, the husband took his mistress home to apologize – 3 months later, the husband had to kneel down and apologize It
was a drizzling rainy afternoon in New Delhi, the first heavy drops of monsoon were dripping on the glass door of the Sir Ganga Ram Hospital room. Inside, Vani was lying on her side, the pain of the cesarean delivery still lingering. She had just had a cesarean section to welcome her first son—a journey she herself called “the labor pangs of a man who thought he had lost hope.”

For the past 6 years, Vani and her husband Karan have sought treatment for infertility everywhere: from Ayurveda, homeopathy, traditional Chinese medicine to Western medicine; Even the folk remedies of the aunties of the Lajpat Nagar bazaar—he spared nothing. There was a time when she thought she would never be able to become a mother. Then, as she prepared to accept reality, the good news came like a miracle.

Vani was pregnant.

During her pregnancy, she enjoyed every meal, every sleep. Despite her poor health, she prepared everything for her baby: every baby towel, a small crib, even a list of Indian names according to the constellations.

She thought that after all her efforts, it would be a turning point in bringing the family closer. But she was wrong.

Three days after the surgery, before the stitches were removed, Karan appeared—not flowers, not hot porridge, but next to him… She was a strange woman.

Vani was stunned.

Before she could understand what was happening, Karan placed a piece of paper on the bedside table: a filled divorce form. There was a thin envelope next to it.

—Sign it. I will give you ₹20,000. Consider supporting his move.

—What… You said?—Vani whispered, her voice choked.

—That’s it now. I don’t love you anymore. Keep the baby with you. I don’t want to live a life of compulsion anymore.

The other woman stood there, smiling faintly as if watching a play. Her mother-in-law sat quietly on the edge of the bed, her eyes staring into the void as if not wanting to interfere.

At that moment, the world of speech seemed to collapse.

No one defended him. No one spoke. No one asked how she was feeling.

She sat there, her arms holding the sleeping baby weakly, her heart numb as if she had just fallen into a pit.

But instead of crying or begging, Vani asked just one question…
— You want me to go now… Just?

Karan nodded, avoiding her gaze.

Despite the pain of the incision, despite the swelling of her breasts, Vani was struggling to get up. She wrapped her baby in a thin towel, picked up her old bag, and walked out of the hospital—without saying goodbye.

No one stopped him. No one sent him off.

The small PG (lodging house) room in Karol Bagh lane had a tin roof that creaked in the wind and rain. Vani had rented it with the small amount of money left over from the hospital bill and some of the child’s needs.

She would make her own postpartum porridge on an electric stove, ditch her own diapers, mix milk, and rock her baby amidst the sounds of auto-rickshaws and car horns. On the nights when her child had a fever, she would stay up all night and watch his every breath. When she was restless, she gritted her teeth, not daring to cry out loud for fear of startling her.

During the day, when her baby fell asleep, she would turn on her old phone and accept some online architectural design work—a hobby she gave up after marriage.

At night, in the flickering yellow light, his hands trembled as he drew every line. Not because she was tired, but because of the pain—both physically and mentally.

But he didn’t let himself fall.

In the first month, he earned a few lakh rupees. The other month, thanks to a referral from an old client, she took a drawing for a garden house in Gurgaon. Since then, small orders began to gradually increase.

No one knew that behind these meticulously drawn paintings was a single mother who worked with her child all night. She worked from a small rented room, a second-hand laptop and a will that was not willing to give up.

Sometimes she remembered her ex-husband’s cold eyes, and she felt that her heart no longer ached as before—only emptiness and peace.

Three years passed.

Vani rented a studio apartment in Dwarka, whose windows used to let in sunlight. His son—Vihan—could scrape the rice himself, read the letters, and often say:

— When I grow up, I will protect you like the superhero Krish!

One weekend afternoon, they were both watering the money plant on the balcony when Karan suddenly appeared.

He was thin, his shirt was faded, standing awkwardly in front of the door.

— I just… I want to see you for a while.

Vihan looked at her strangely, and turned and asked:

Mom, who is this boy?

The voice came closer, and gently placed her hand on his shoulder:

— He’s an old acquaintance of yours. But now, I don’t need to know.

Karan lowered his head, not daring to look at her. He turned around quietly. His eyes were red on the stairs.

That night, Vani wrote in her diary:

“The day you left, I felt like I had lost everything.” Then I understood: those who are not truthful will leave sooner or later.
As far as you are concerned, you are the precious gift of life that I have received. ”

Vani closed the notebook, turned off the light. Outside, Delhi’s rain was still drizzling. In the small room, Vihaan was fast asleep with his mother hugging tightly. And in the beam of light coming from between the curtains, Vani knew that the sun between mother and daughter was slowly rising, with her own hands that were not going to leave her.

Part 2: When the Past Knocks

Three days after their unexpected meeting, the Dwarka apartment bell rang. Vani had just fed Vihaan. As soon as he opened the door, he found an envelope – a summons from the Delhi Family Court.

Karan had filed a petition for the right to meet his son.

Vani was stunned. Not because she feared losing Vihaan, but because she knew that her traumatic past would be revealed as soon as she went to court. But he had no choice. He had to face it.

First session

The Saket Family Court was packed. Vani was wearing a simple beige saree and was holding Vihaan tightly in her arms. Karan, on the other hand, came with a young lawyer, his face still but his eyes were troubled.

The judge asked:

— Mr. Karan, you have not taken care of your son for the last three years, nor have you gone to see him, and now you are suddenly asking for the right to meet?

Karan tilted his head, his voice getting heavy:

— I was wrong. I was stuck in a wrong relationship. Now I want to be a true father. I’m not asking for custody of the child, I just want to see my child.

There was a commotion in the room. Vani sat quietly, her hand on Vihaan’s shoulder. Now it was his turn to stand up:

— Honourable Judge, when I gave birth by caesarean, he brought divorce papers from another woman. When I took the baby from the hospital, he didn’t even give me a bottle of milk. For the past three years, I have earned all the money myself to raise the child. Now he says he regrets it, but for me, it’s not just a wound—it’s a betrayal. I don’t want Vihaan to stop her from getting to know her father, but I don’t want her to have any trouble again.

The judge looked at the file and thought:

— The court will consider it. Children need the love of both parents, but also the protection they need. The decision will be made in the next hearing.

The night after the trial

In the apartment, Vihan asked curiously:

Mom, I saw him today. Is he my father?

Vani’s throat choked. He knew that this day would come. He stroked his son’s hair:

Yes, He gave birth to you. But remember, the Son, the Father is not only by blood, but also by the heart. And you just have to have faith: I’m always here.

Vihan thought, then hugged his mother and whispered:

— I just need you.

Vani’s tears flowed, making her son’s shoulder warm.

Turning point

The following month, the final hearing was held. Vani’s lawyer presented all the evidence: a divorce certificate with a date of birth, a Rs 20,000 envelope, and the testimony of the doctor and nurse. Karan was silent, his face pale. The woman who was with him also suddenly appeared in the hallway, and looked at him coldly before leaving.

Eventually, the court ruled: Karan can only meet his child for two hours a month at the monitoring centre and cannot interfere in Vihaan’s life. The custody of the child is fully vowed.

Karan burst into tears, but it was too late.
The Voice of the New Age

A year later, a small studio named “Vani Designs” officially opened in Connaught Place. From a single mother working in a rented room, she now has a group of young architects. On the wall hangs a picture of mother and son smiling in the sun, on the corner of which is written:

“Pain creates strength. ”

Vihaan is now 7 years old, still a “superhero Krish” for his mother. Whenever someone asks about his father, he simply smiles:

You are my father, you are my mother, you are my whole world.

conclusion

Late at night, Vani wrote in her diary:

“The day he came into the hospital room with the divorce papers, I felt like the world was over. But actually, that was the beginning of my journey of finding myself.

If Vihaan asked someday, I would tell her: Your father was lost. But thanks to him, I learned that when a woman stands up for her child, no one can take away her strength. ”

Vani closed the notebook and turned on the night light. It was a cold Delhi breeze outside. In the room, mother and child were wrapped tightly in a blanket, as calm as if a storm had never passed.