The next morning, Ravi left early. He said he was going to speak with his father. I stayed home with Amma, pretending everything was fine, even though my stomach churned with anxiety.

Hours passed. Noon turned to dusk. Ravi hadn’t called. I couldn’t eat. Amma, oblivious, kept fussing over the baby and offering me snacks. “You should rest, beta,” she said. “Your eyes look tired.”

How could I rest, Amma, when the life you’ve built for decades might be a lie?

Finally, around 8 p.m., Ravi walked in—his face pale, his shirt collar open, and his eyes bloodshot.

“Come to the bedroom,” he whispered. “Now.”

We stepped inside and closed the door.

“I confronted him,” Ravi began. “He didn’t deny it.”

I gasped.

“She’s his daughter,” Ravi said through gritted teeth. “Her name is Nisha. She was born out of a short-lived relationship in Shimla, before he married Amma. Her mother never contacted him again… until recently. Apparently, she’s sick now and asked him to look after Nisha. He’s been helping them in secret.”

“So… she’s not his lover?” I asked, trembling.

“No,” Ravi said. “But he still lied to all of us. He’s been giving them money for years. He bought her a small flat. And yes, he’s been taking her to the hospital appointments.”

“And the baby?”

“It’s not his. It’s Nisha’s fiancé’s child. But that man left her after finding out she was pregnant. Papa felt responsible and stepped in.”

I sat down slowly, my legs weak with relief, shock, and still—anger.

“He never told Amma?” I asked.

“No. He swore he never intended to hurt her. But… he also said something else,” Ravi continued.

“What?”

“He plans to bring Nisha and the baby into our family.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

“He wants Amma to accept her—as his daughter. As our blood.”

My breath caught in my throat.

That night, while Amma slept, Ravi pulled out a small box from his drawer. Inside was a gold ring—old, dusty, with a tiny sapphire.

“It was his mother’s,” Ravi said. “He gave it to Nisha last month. Said it belonged to her grandmother. Proof.”

Proof that she’s one of us.

“Ravi… what are we going to do?” I whispered.

“I don’t know,” he said, burying his face in his hands.

But the next day… the choice was taken from us.

It was around 11 a.m. when I heard a knock on the door. Amma was folding clothes. I rushed to open it.

Standing there was a young woman—Nisha.

Dressed in a pale yellow kurta, her hands resting over her pregnant belly. Her face pale, eyes full of nerves.

“I’m sorry to come unannounced,” she said softly. “But Uncle Mahendra said this was my home too.”

Behind her stood Mahendra Singh, silent.

I turned. Amma had come to the door.

For a second, she just stared at Nisha. At her belly. At Mahendra.

“Who is she?” Amma asked, her voice calm, almost too calm.

Mahendra opened his mouth, but Amma raised a hand. “Let her speak.”

And Nisha, trembling, said five words that shattered the room:

“I am your husband’s daughter.”

Amma didn’t move. Her hands dropped the folded shawl. Her mouth parted, but no sound came out.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Mahendra said, stepping forward. “It was before you… before everything. I only found her recently.”

But Amma wasn’t listening anymore. She walked to the sofa, sat down, and looked straight ahead. For a moment, she seemed smaller than I’d ever seen her.

“I cooked for you this morning,” she whispered, not looking at anyone. “I told you to wear warm socks… and you were hiding this from me?”

Silence.

Then, something in her shifted. She looked at Nisha, really looked.

“Do you know how many nights I prayed for a daughter?” Amma asked quietly. “When my Meera died, I thought I’d never feel that again.”

She stood up, walked slowly toward Nisha, and did something none of us expected—

She placed a hand on her cheek.

“You look just like her,” she murmured. “Like my Meera.”

Nisha burst into tears.

I stood frozen, watching two women—one broken by betrayal, the other by abandonment—find something unspoken in each other.

But behind that moment… I knew a storm was still coming.

Would Amma really forgive Mahendra?

Would Ravi accept Nisha as his sister?

Would this new baby grow up calling Meena Devi “Dadi”… while the truth lived in the shadows?

Nothing would ever be the same again.

And the hardest part?

We still didn’t know if Mahendra was telling us the full truth.