Ever since my son died in a road accident, the warmth of our small home in New Delhi has completely disappeared. Three months have passed, and I – Savitri Devi – still haven’t gotten used to the feeling of Aarav’s absence. Every afternoon, I sit in front of the corner of the pooja, look at the picture of my son wrapped in a garland of marigolds, and stroke everything he touches.

While I was still in mourning, Nisha – my daughter-in-law – confused me. She used to wear simple clothes, just put on a little mascara and light lipstick, and go to work. Now she wears a lot of makeup, wears a body-adhesive office dress/kurta, and high heels that click on the tiled floor every morning.

She goes to work early and comes home late. Some days she comes home around midnight. When I asked him, he simply said vaguely:

The subsidiary is working quickly on a project, I sympathize with you.

I nodded, but my mind was full of doubts.

The climax happened on a weekend night. At about one o’clock in the night, I got up to go to the bathroom, and as I passed by my daughter-in-law’s room, I heard a low voice of a man from outside, including Nisha’s whisper. I paused, my heart seemed to be pounding: In this house, there are only two of us, mother and daughter, so who was in her room?

The next morning, I chose my words thoughtfully:
— Nisha, last night I … Did you hear a man’s voice in your room?

She was a little confused, then she quieted her voice:
— You must have heard me make a video call with my colleague. The project is in the final stages, so we had to discuss it at length. Don’t worry, Mom.

I didn’t say anything else, but my heart was restless: It’s only been three months since my husband passed away, and my daughter-in-law is in such a hurry?

Since then, I’ve secretly paid attention. Nisha’s clothes were getting more stylish, her fragrance was strong, she always kept her phone with her; Whenever she called, she would go somewhere else and speak very softly. I felt very sad. I loved Nisha like my own daughter, but now I couldn’t stop myself thinking that she was cheating on my unlucky son.

Everything fell apart on a rainy night.

I was thirsty, and when I passed by his room, I saw that the light was still on. I opened the door slightly—so much so that Nisha was sitting crouched on the bed, her eyes red and she was holding the phone tightly. On the screen, Aarav—my son—was giggling in an old clip. His voice echoed:

“Nisha, I’ll be back tomorrow, what gift would you like me to give you?”

Nisha burst into tears and whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks:
— I miss you so much… I won the bid again today. If you were alive now, you would praise me a lot…

I was stunned. It turned out that the man I had heard in the middle of the night was Aarav’s voice in the old video—the same one that Nisha used to hold on to to quench her cravings. I blamed him by mistake.

The next morning, when Nisha went into the kitchen, her eyes still swollen, I asked softly:
— You are coming home late these days and staying up late. Is the work going well?

Nisha nodded:
Yes, I have just been promoted to manager. Now I have to meet partners and go to events, so I dress up a little more. I don’t want to be considered depressed forever. I know he… It’s gone, but I have to try to live, Mom.

I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered:

I understand, my child. I’m sorry to misunderstand you.

Nisha looked up, tears welling up in her eyes. I knew: after all, she had never forgotten Aarav. She was learning to live — strong and proud, as she promised near her picture on the day of her funeral.

Since that day, I’m no longer strict. Nisha and I cleaned Aarav’s room and cherished the memories by choosing a small corner in the house. Nisha would still come home late, but every night she would stop at the place of worship, light incense sticks and tell me a few little stories from the day.

I could no longer hear the stranger’s voice in the middle of the night. Nisha whispered instead:

I’m home from work, I know…