Family ties aren’t unbreakable—they’re fragile threads that require constant care to remain intact.

Sitting on the couch in the living room, I felt like a guest in what once was my home. Everything around me screamed familiarity—yet, I felt utterly alienated. My hands rested on Ansh’s tiny shoulders as he sat on my lap, babbling about his favorite toys. His innocence was a fragile thread keeping me grounded in this house of suffocating memories. 

And then, the inevitable happened. 

Dad walked in, his usual authoritative aura filling the space like an unwanted storm cloud. His face was calm, composed as always, but the faint crease on his forehead betrayed his thoughts. He sat on the large armchair, the same one I’d always seen him in, his back straight, posture rigid—every bit the patriarch he believed himself to be. 

I braced myself, knowing what was coming. 

“How have your studies been, Nandini?” he began, his tone neutral but clipped like he was conducting an interview. 

“They were fine,” I replied curtly, my gaze fixed on a point just over his shoulder. 

He continued, unfazed by my coldness. “And now that you’re back, what are your plans for the future? You’ve earned your degree. It’s time to start thinking about building something meaningful.” 

I could hear the subtext loud and clear: Meaningful means within his definition.

“I already started working,” I said flatly. 

That caught his attention. His brows furrowed as he leaned forward slightly. “Working? Where?” 

“I’m working as a personal secretary in a reputed company,” I said, my voice even but laced with defiance. 

The room fell into a heavy silence. Everyone froze—Bhai, Mom, and even Bhabhi stopped fiddling with Ansh’s toys. All eyes were on him now. 

Dad’s expression darkened as he asked, “And how exactly did you come to such a decision without consulting anyone?” 

I let out a dry chuckle, unable to help myself. “Consulting? Advice?” I met his gaze squarely, the bitterness in my tone unmistakable. “I didn’t think I needed advice from people who weren’t there when I needed them the most.” 

His jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, I saw something flicker in his eyes—hurt? Guilt? But he recovered quickly. “You are my daughter, Nandini. It’s not just about you. Every decision you make reflects on this family. On me.” 

There it was. The reputation speech. I could feel my anger rising, bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over. 

“So?” I shot back, my voice sharper now. “I finally decided to be independent, to stop relying on people who think their reputation matters more than their daughter’s happiness.” 

“Nandini—” Mom started, her voice soft, placating. 

But I wasn’t done. I turned to her, my eyes blazing. “Don’t, Mom. Don’t defend him. Don’t pretend that all this concern suddenly matters. Where was it when I was shipped off to New York like some liability? Where was this concern when I cried myself to sleep for months, wishing someone—anyone—from my so-called family would care enough to check in on me?” 

Mom’s face crumpled, and she stepped back, her silence louder than any words she could have said. 

Dad, however, was unmoved. “You’re being childish, Nandini. That job—this so-called independence—is beneath you. What will people say when they hear Manish Murthy’s daughter is working as someone’s secretary?” 

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “Wow. Still worried about what people will say, aren’t you? Not about me, your daughter. Just the opinions of strangers who don’t even matter.” I stood up, my fists clenched at my sides. “This is exactly why I shouldn’t have come back. I should’ve known better.” 

“Nandini—” Bhai stepped in, his voice calm but firm. “Let’s think about this logically. Maybe it’s good for her to be away from family connections, Dad. She’ll learn to navigate the world on her own. Isn’t that what you’ve always valued—self-reliance?” 

Manish sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. “If something goes wrong, Rudraksh, don’t expect me to clean up her mess.” 

I laughed again, this time without any trace of humor. “Don’t worry. I learned not to expect anything from you a long time ago.” 

I turned to leave, not trusting myself to say anything more without exploding. But before I could take another step, a small hand tugged at mine. 

“Bua?” Ansh’s voice was soft, almost pleading. “When will you come back? Will you play with me again?” 

I knelt to his level, my anger melting away at the sight of his big, innocent eyes. I cupped his cheek and smiled through the tears brimming in my eyes. “I’ll come soon, baby,” I promised, kissing his cheek. “Or you can ask your Mumma and papa to bring you to my home, okay?” 

He nodded, though his little face was still worried. I ruffled his hair and stood up, avoiding everyone else’s eyes as I walked toward the door. 

As I stepped out of the house, the weight of unspoken words and unresolved pain pressed heavily on my chest. I had come here for closure, but all I found were reopened wounds. 

Nandini’s POV ends.

Prisha’s POV,

The house was quiet, unnaturally so, after Nandini’s departure. Ansh was sitting in the corner, playing with his toys. I glanced at Rudraksh, who was pacing near the window, his jaw clenched in frustration. The silence was suffocating until a choked sob broke through it. 

I turned to see Ma sitting on the couch, her face buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking with grief. I hurried to her side, kneeling and placing a hand on her arm. 

“Ma…” I said softly, my heart aching for her. “Please don’t cry like this.” 

She looked up at me, her face streaked with tears, her eyes red and filled with despair. “I lost her, Prisha,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “My little girl… she’s so distant now. She didn’t even let me hug her. She hates me.” 

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I had never seen Ma like this before—so vulnerable, so broken. 

“She doesn’t hate you, Ma,” I said gently, though even I could hear the uncertainty in my voice. “She’s just… angry. Hurt. But she doesn’t hate you.” 

Ma shook her head, her hands clutching the edges of her saree tightly. “I saw it in her eyes, Prisha. The way she looked at me… there was nothing but anger and resentment. And why wouldn’t there be? I stood by silently when Manish made that decision. I didn’t fight for her, not the way I should have.” 

I sat down beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You did what you thought was best at the time,” I said, trying to reassure her. “You didn’t send her away because you didn’t care. You sent her away because you wanted to protect her.” 

“Protect her?” Ma let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “How is that protection, Prisha? She was just a child. And I let her feel unwanted and unloved. What kind of mother does that?” 

I didn’t have an answer. I hadn’t been there when Nandini was sent to New York. Rudraksh had told me bits and pieces of the story after our marriage, and the rest I’d pieced together from overheard conversations. Even so, I couldn’t imagine the pain both Ma and Nandini must have gone through during those years. 

“She’ll come around, Ma,” I said, my voice firm now. “She just needs time. Please don’t lose hope.” 

Ma looked at me, her expression desperate. “But what if she doesn’t? What if I’ve ruined everything? I’ve already missed so many years of her life. I don’t even know the woman she’s become.” 

Her words made my chest tighten. I had seen glimpses of Nandini’s pain today—her guarded demeanor, her biting sarcasm, the way she kept everyone at arm’s length. But beneath all that anger, there was still the girl who had smiled so tenderly at Ansh, who had cried silent tears as she kissed his cheek goodbye. 

“She’s still your daughter, Ma,” I said softly. “No matter how much time has passed, that hasn’t changed. And I know she still loves you, even if she’s too hurt to show it right now.” 

Ma sniffled, her hands trembling as she wiped her tears away. “I wish I could believe that,” she murmured. “But every time I try to reach out to her, she pushes me further away.” 

I glanced at Rudraksh, who had stopped pacing and was now leaning against the wall, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His face was a mask of frustration and helplessness, but I could see the pain in his eyes, too. 

“Rudraksh,” I called out softly, and he looked at me, his expression softening. “Say something. Help her understand.” 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to us. Sitting down across from Ma, he reached out and took her hands in his. “Ma, Prisha’s right. Nandini just needs time. She’s angry because she felt abandoned, but she’ll come around. We just have to be patient.” 

Ma shook her head again, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks. “I don’t know if I can bear this, Rudraksh. Seeing her like that today… it broke me.” 

I felt a pang of sadness, wishing I could do more to ease her pain. “Ma, maybe we need to take small steps,” I suggested. “Don’t push her too hard right now. Let her come to you on her own terms. Show her that you’re here for her, no matter what.” 

Rudraksh nodded in agreement. “Prisha’s right. And maybe I can talk to her, try to get through to her when she’s calmed down. She listens to me sometimes.” 

Ma gave him a small, tearful smile. “You’ve always been her rock, Rudraksh. Even when she was a little girl, she looked up to you more than anyone else. Maybe you can help her see that we’re still her family.” 

I placed a hand over hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll get through this, Ma. Together. Nandini is hurt, but she’s also strong. And I know deep down, she wants to heal. We just have to give her the space and the love she needs.” 

Ma nodded slowly, though her expression remained heavy with sorrow. “Thank you, Prisha. For being here. For understanding.” 

I smiled at her, though my heart still ached. “Of course, Ma. That’s what family is for.” 

As I sat there, holding her hand and watching Rudraksh’s determined expression, I silently prayed that we could find a way to mend the broken pieces of this family. Nandini deserved happiness, and so did Ma. And I would do everything in my power to help them find it—together.

Prisha's POV ends.

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