Grandmother, Who, Me?

Grandmother, Who, Me?

Chapter 15: The Locked Door and the Morning After

Shreya’s POV

The moment the lock clicked shut, I leaned my forehead against the cool wood of the guest room door and closed my eyes.

Oh fuck… what have I become?

My hands were still trembling. I had just locked my husband, my Satish, now Lakshmi, inside a room with a man who used to beg on temple steps. I had told them, in a soft, almost loving voice, that a wife sleeps with her husband. The words had come out so naturally that they frightened me.

I was being selfish. Completely, utterly selfish. I was acting on desires I barely understood myself. The longing for a mother figure had grown into something larger, a hunger for an entire family structure I had never known. And now I was forcing the man I loved to live inside that structure.

But… at least for a little while, I wanted it to feel real.

Ever since the day Satish became my mother-in-law, something warm and steady had settled inside my chest. The way she cared for me, the soft weight of her hugs, the sound of her anklets in the morning, the mature voice calling me “ma”… it filled a hollow place I had carried for years. And now, with a father-in-law in the house, I hoped that same hollow would be filled with a sense of security and quiet integrity. A complete family. Just once.

I walked slowly to our bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed. My hand rested on my growing belly. On the side table stood an old framed photograph of Satish, smiling, clean-shaven, wearing a simple shirt, looking at the camera with the same gentle eyes I had fallen in love with.

I picked up the photo and whispered to my stomach,

“It’s absurd… I know it’s absurd. But a little time is okay, right? Just until you come. Just a little time.”

The photo didn’t answer. Neither did the baby. Only the quiet ticking of the wall clock filled the room.

Morning came too quickly.

I woke early and waited in the living room, hands wrapped around a steel tumbler of filter coffee. My heart was beating fast. I didn’t know what I would see when the guest room door finally opened.

It opened slowly.

Lakshmi stepped out first.

Her silk saree from the previous night was heavily wrinkled. The pallu hung unevenly. The thali still rested deep in her cleavage, but the blouse was slightly askew. Her long hair was loose and messy. Dark circles sat under her eyes. She looked exhausted, emotionally more than physically.

Rajan remained inside the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, still in his shirt from the night before.

I knew, rationally, that nothing irreversible had probably happened. Jessica’s cage was still locked. But the sight of my mother-in-law emerging from a night spent with her new husband still sent a strange mix of excitement and deep guilt through me.

I stood up, walked over, and gently placed the hot tumbler of coffee into her soft hands.

“Attai,” I said softly, looking into those familiar-yet-unfamiliar eyes, “give this to your husband… my maama.”

The words hung in the quiet morning air between us.

Lakshmi stared at the tumbler for a long second. Then, without speaking, she turned and walked back into the guest room to deliver the coffee to Rajan.

I watched her go, the anklets chiming softly with every tired step, and felt the weight of what I had created settle more heavily on my shoulders.