Author's Note:
This chapter contains sensitive themes including illness, coma, and death of a loved one. Reader discretion is advised. ❤️
The call came from the hospital.
The doctor's voice was quiet, yet heavy with finality — "It's time. He's taking his last breaths."
Tara and I rushed to the hospital. Her mother and Suhani arrived soon after. The doctor didn't offer false hope. He simply said it: all his organs had failed. Nothing more could be done. We should prepare ourselves.
Tara didn't say a word. She just sat silently in a chair.
No tears, no reaction — just... stillness.
It was the quiet collapse of a four-month battle — prayers, sacrifices, endless hope — all slipping through her hands.
Suhani clung to her mother, crying helplessly. Her mother looked just as broken.
And I... I kept searching for alternatives, last-minute miracles — some other doctor, some other hospital. Anything.
We didn't say it aloud, but we knew this day would come.
But Tara... she was never going to be ready to accept it. I knew how deeply she loved her father.
And I hated myself — truly, deeply hated — for all the times I used her love for him as a weapon.
No matter the reasons, no matter the misunderstandings...
Nothing could ever justify blackmailing her when she was already in pain.
I loved her. I was protecting her — or so I thought.
But I failed to see that in trying to protect her, I was also hurting her.
She was right.
It wasn't just arrogance or ego — it was emotional immaturity.
Love isn't just about feeling deeply.
It's about listening, yielding, understanding.
It's about knowing that even with the best intentions, doing something your way doesn't make it the right way — not if it breaks the person you love.
---
Two hours had passed since her father's death.
I had completed most of the formalities.
Tara was still sitting in the same chair, unresponsive.
Everyone tried to talk to her — Dadi, Dada ji, her mother, Suhani — but she didn't say a word.
I sat beside her, holding her cold hand.
Seeing her like this was unbearable.
I finally gathered the strength.
For her. For her mother. For little Suhani, who hadn't stopped crying since.
"Tara... please drink some water," I whispered.
"Say something... anything. Cry if you need to, but don't go quiet like this. Please."
Dadi knelt beside her, gently placing a hand on her arm.
"Beta... some things are just destiny. If love alone could save someone, your father would never have left us."
Dada ji stroked her head softly.
"You loved him fiercely, Tara. But now you need to be strong — for your mother, for Suhani."
But Tara still didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't speak.
And my heart kept sinking.
---
Then the hospital staff informed us:
It was time. They were releasing the body for cremation.
That broke Suhani.
She ran to me and burst into tears, hugging me tightly.
"Papa will never come home again, right, Jiju?"
"We'll never eat together again?"
Every word from her mouth felt like a blade in my chest.
"I know," I whispered, wiping her tears.
"I know what it's like to lose a parent. I lost my mom when I was ten."
"The pain... it never really goes away. But we learn to carry it."
---
As the staff began moving the body, I turned to Tara.
"Tara... we have to go. Please, get up."
"Come on... please don't do this. Say something..."
She stood — and immediately collapsed.
"TARAAA!"
Everyone rushed forward.
I lifted her into my arms and ran into the emergency room.
"DOCTOR! Please, check her! She just fainted — I don't know what's happening!"
After a few tense minutes, the doctor turned to me.
"She's in shock. This is a common trauma response. We'll keep her under observation."
---
Two days later, late at night...
Tara finally regained consciousness.
I was right there, beside her.
When her eyes opened, I couldn't hold it in anymore — tears rolled down my face.
I leaned forward, gently embracing her.
"I was so scared," I whispered.
"Tara, don't ever do that again. I can't lose you. I can't survive without you."
She blinked slowly, confused.
"Vikram... where's Papa?"
I froze.
"Tara..."
"It's been two days. We had to... cremate him. We had no choice."
She stared at me — and broke.
She wept in my arms for hours, her body trembling with grief.
Eventually, she cried herself to sleep in my lap.
---
Morning.
She stirred to find me still sitting beside her, asleep in the same position.
She whispered softly to herself:
"Tara... you loved Papa so much. He loved you too."
"But now... you have people who still need you."
"Vikarm ,Mummy. Suhani. Dada jiand Dadi. You have to be strong."
She gently cupped my cheek.
"Vikram... wake up."
I jerked awake.
"Tara? Are you okay?"
"I don't know if I'm okay," she said softly.
"But I'm trying to be strong."
I kissed her forehead.
"And I'll be right here, helping you try."
"Let's go home," she said.
"I want to see Mummy and Suhani."
---
We returned to the Suryavanshi Mansion.
Tara was silent the whole drive.
I held her hand. She didn't speak, but I could feel that she knew I was with her — truly, completely with her.
As soon as we entered the house, Suhani ran to Tara and hugged her tightly, sobbing.
"You scared me," she cried.
"First Papa... now you... I thought I was losing you too, Didi."
"I'm sorry, Suhani," Tara whispered.
"I won't fall sick again. I promise."
Their mother embraced them both.
"Tara... your father loved your smile more than anything."
"Don't let your grief take away what he cherished most."
And for a long time, all three of them just cried — no words, no interruptions.
Only the grief they shared.
---
Back in our room, everyone continued comforting her — Dada ji Dadi, suhani and me. Each one encouraging her to take care of her health.
"Beta," Dada ji said with tears in his eyes,
"We lost our son... our daughter-in-law... We know what this pain is."
"But you have to live — for those who still love you."
Dadi added gently,
"You're lucky, Tara. You have Vikram — he will never leave your side. Just as your Dadaji never left mine."
Tara looked at me.
There were tears in my eyes too. But I smiled — the faintest smile, just to let her know: I'm still here.
Suhani wiped her sister's tears and said softly,
"Let's remember Papa's smile. His silly dances. The way he tried to sing off-key just to make us laugh."
And for the first time in days, everyone smiled — just a little.
---
Later, after lunch...
We lay facing each other.
I tapped her nose.
"Don't go quiet on me, okay? Yell at me. Fight with me. But don't shut down like that again... it scares me."
She whispered,
"I couldn't save him, Vikram..."
I pulled her into a gentle hug.
"You did everything."
"You even agreed to a contract marriage just for his treatment."
"That wasn't fake for me. It was love. And I... I was such an idiot."
She pulled back slightly, looking at me.
"You were hurt too. But you helped us. Even through your anger, you took care of me, Suhani, Mummy... and Papa. You never left. That means more than anything."
I touched her hair gently.
"It finally feels like someone truly chose me... completely."
She smiled faintly.
"Thank you, Vikram. For being there. For loving me."
---
As she clung to me again, she whispered:
"I miss him so much.
I held her tighter.
"I know. I miss my mother even now. But I'll be here, Tara. No matter what. You'll never go through pain alone again."
---
A soft knock broke the moment.
Suhani stood at the door.
"Why did you lock it? Was Tara Didi crying again?"
I opened the door with a tired smile.
"It wasn't locked, Suhani. You just had to push."
Tara called her in.
Suhani climbed onto the bed and hugged her tightly before falling asleep beside her.
Tara kissed her forehead.
I lay quietly on the other side.
---
Tara whispered,
"She's asleep."
"Yeah," I nodded.
"She's been crying every day since. She's just a child... but grief spares no one."
Soon, Tara drifted into sleep too.
---
Grief is a part of life.
But when you have people — family, friends, someone who truly loves you —
You somehow find the strength to endure it.
The pain hadn't left them.
But in their sleep, there was something new:
A faint trace of acceptance.
A quiet reminder: they weren't alone.
---