During our trip to Hyderabad, it truly felt as if life was offering us a second chance.
We laughed more, talked more, and, for a brief moment, it seemed like the distance between us was disappearing.
The bond between me and Raman was strengthening with every passing day.
Raman’s uncle even offered us an opportunity to settle in Hyderabad and join his business.
The idea excited both of us — a fresh place, a fresh start, a life away from the constant tensions.
But dreams often collide with reality.
Raman’s family didn’t agree.
So we came back, shelving the idea, and resumed our life where we had left it, filled with cautious hope.
We began thinking about names for our baby...
We started weaving dreams around this new life we were about to welcome.
For the first time in months, life felt okay.
But happiness, it seemed, was not meant to stay for long.
Our world came crashing down when we went for the first ultrasound.
The doctor’s words froze us in place:
"The baby doesn’t have a heartbeat yet."
Our own hearts seemed to stop beating at that moment.
Tears blurred my vision as reality sank in — I had a miscarriage.
Physically, I was battling heavy bleeding for days.
Emotionally, I was fighting a storm inside.
But even in that fragile state, expectations didn’t leave me alone.
My father-in-law believed I should continue behaving normally — doing all household chores as if nothing had happened.
When my mother sensed their coldness, she insisted that Raman let me stay with her for a few days, at least until I recovered.
Seeing my deteriorating health and emotional state, Raman agreed.
I moved back to my parents' house — carrying not just a broken body, but a shattered soul.
But while I was away, history repeated itself.
My father-in-law took advantage of my absence and poisoned Raman’s mind once again, filling it with negativity about me and my family.
When I returned, I immediately sensed a change in Raman.
There was a distance in his eyes, a stiffness in his words, a wall that hadn’t been there before.
We had reached a point where silence became our companion.
It was no longer strange if we didn’t speak to each other for days... or even for a month.
We were two people under the same roof — still legally together, but emotionally worlds apart.
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