Adultery Mom's Village Affair

[KingRocks]

Damn… what a chapter.

Chapter 38 hit different. The whole night train sequence felt so real and heavy. From the moment they left the lodge till they reached home, every line carried weight. Ravi moving like the actual head of the family, assigning berths, handling the coolie, walking with that calm authority… while Appa just sat there broken and silent. That contrast was painful to read.

And Lakshmi… she’s changed. Completely. The way she casually chose the seater coach with Ravi, the soft conversation, the shoulder touches, and then that toilet scene… brother, that was intense. Kneeling on that dirty floor with her family just a few metres away, and still going through with it. The mess on her face, the quick cleaning, the way she later accepted his hand on her thigh without pulling away. She’s not resisting anymore. She’s accepting it. That’s the real shift.

Arjun’s point of view continues to be the strongest part of this story. The guilt, the helplessness, the unwanted heat… everything feels raw and honest. You can feel how trapped he is in his own silence.

The ending when they walk back into the house and nothing feels the same anymore… that quiet heaviness stayed with me. The house is the same, but the people inside it are not.

Really well written chapter. The slow pace, the atmosphere, the tension — everything worked. Waiting for the next one already.

[Paty@123]

[quote pid='6317079' dateline='1789634535']
రవి లక్ష్మిని పూర్తిగా తన భార్యగా చేసుకున్నాడు. కానీ అదే సమయంలో, అర్జున్ తల్లిగా, మురుగన్ భార్యగా ఆమెకున్న గుర్తింపును నెమ్మదిగా దూరం చేశాడు. ఆ ట్రైన్ టాయిలెట్ సీన్ తర్వాత, లక్ష్మికి మిగిలి ఉన్న కొద్దిపాటి ఆత్మగౌరవాన్ని కూడా కోల్పోయినట్లు అనిపిస్తోంది. ఇక

అర్జున్ విషయానికొస్తే... ఎప్పటిలాగే, అక్కడే నిలబడినదంతా చూస్తూ ఉంటాడు. అతను గతంలో చూశాడు, ప్రస్తుతం చూస్తున్నాడు, బహుశా భవిష్యత్తులో కూడా చూస్తూనే ఉంటాడేమో. అన్నీ చూడటం తప్ప అతనికి ఇంకేమీ తెలియదేమో అనిపిస్తోంది.

ఒకవేళ అర్జున్, లక్ష్మిని రవితో చూస్తే, మనం అనుకున్నదానికంటే ముందే అర్జున్, మురుగన్ ఇద్దరూ ఆమెను వదిలేస్తారేమో అనిపిస్తోంది. రాబోయే ఎపిసోడ్లలో రచయిత లక్ష్మి కోసం ఏం ప్లాన్ చేశాడో చూద్దాం.
[/quote]
రవి మాట వినడం మొదలుపెట్టినప్పటి నుంచే లక్ష్మి తన ఆత్మశాంతిని కోల్పోయింది. ఇక మురుగన్ విషయానికొస్తే, అతను ఒక పనికిమాలినవాడే అయినా, సుదీర్ఘ ఆలయ యాత్ర కోసం రవి నుండి స్పాన్సర్‌షిప్ అంగీకరించినప్పుడే తన భార్య ముందు ఆత్మగౌరవాన్ని కోల్పోయాడు. ఇప్పుడు అర్జున్ ఒక్కడే, శారీరక మరియు మానసిక హెచ్చరికలతో పాటు తన కామవాంఛ మరియు పిరికితనం వల్ల బలహీనపడినప్పటికీ , రవి కుయుక్తుల గురించి తన తాతయ్య, నానమ్మలకు చెప్పి ఆలయ ఆచారంలో పాల్గొనగలిగాడు, కానీ అతను అలా చేయలేదు. తన  తల్లి సలహా మేరకు లక్ష్మి మనసు రవి వైపు పక్షపాతం చూపింది, దాని ఫలితమే రైలులోని టాయిలెట్‌లో జరిగిన బ్లోజాబ్. ఒకవేళ లక్ష్మికి మురుగన్శారీరక mental దాడి గురించి, రవి అర్జున్‌కు చేసిన హెచ్చరికల గురించి తెలిస్తేనే, తను రవి చేతిలో ఎలా చిక్కుకుందో ఆమెకు తెలుస్తుంది. లేకపోతే, ఆమె మురుగన్ మరియు అర్జున్‌లను వారి విధికి వదిలేసి, రవిని ఏకైక భర్తగా అంగీకరిస్తుంది.

[Waseem990]

continue update

[Paty@123]

Your early updates are appreciated plz

[Lousy1995]

Chapter 39 — The Quiet After Returning

The moment we stepped inside the house, the air felt heavy and closed, as if the walls themselves were pressing in to witness what would happen next. The familiar smell of home—old wood, dried spices, the faint lingering scent of the sambar Amma had cooked before we left—hit me with a strange violence, making me aware of how much had changed while we were away.

Appa did not wait for anyone to speak. He moved through the hall with slow, deliberate steps, pulled his cot slightly away from the wall where it usually sat, and dropped his bag on the floor with a dull thud that seemed to echo in the silence. Then he lay down with his face turned toward the wall, his body curling slightly into itself, his back a rigid line of rejection facing the room.

He did not look at Amma. He did not look at my grandparents. He did not look at me. His body remained completely still, as if he had already shut himself away into some private space where none of us could reach him, where the events of the past days could not follow.

My grandmother's eyes stayed on him for a long moment, her gaze sharp and assessing. Her lips pressed together tightly, the thin line of her mouth showing clear disappointment that she did not bother to hide. I saw her hands clasp together, the knuckles whitening slightly, as if she were restraining herself from speaking words that would not be welcome.

My grandfather shook his head once, slowly, a gesture heavy with disgust and resignation. His face carried the same expression I had seen at the temple when he watched Ravi guide Amma through the crowd—the look of a man who had expected better and been disappointed. Neither of them said anything, but their silence felt louder than any words could have been, filling the room with judgment and condemnation.

Amma stood near the doorway, still holding her bag, her face tired and tense in the morning light that filtered through the small window. She looked at Appa's back, motionless against the wall, then at her parents standing in judgment, and finally at me where I stood near the threshold, caught between all of them.

She drew a breath that seemed to require effort, as if the air itself had become thick and difficult to draw in.

"You both must be tired," she said, forcing her voice into a normal tone that cracked slightly at the edges. "Sleep in the bedroom. I will sleep here in the hall. We can talk later."

My grandmother gave a short nod, her eyes moving from Appa's prone form to her daughter's face, reading something there that she did not comment on. Amma quickly moved into the inner room, spreading the cot with hurried movements, adjusting the pillow, arranging a thin bedsheet for them with the efficiency of long practice. Her hands moved fast, as if she wanted to keep herself busy, to fill the silence with action so that no one would ask questions she could not answer.

The house remained filled with an awkward, heavy silence that seemed to have physical weight, pressing down on all of us.

After my grandparents went into the bedroom and closed the door behind them, Amma came back to the hall. She stood for a moment looking at Appa's still form on the cot, her expression unreadable in the dim light. Then she spread a simple floor mat on the ground a short distance away from him—not touching, not close, but not far either—and lay down on it without saying anything.

Appa did not move or respond. The only sound in the hall was the soft rustle of the mat as she settled herself, the quiet rhythm of her breathing, and the distant chirping of crickets outside that seemed to come from another world entirely.

I went to my room and lay on my cot, staring at the dark ceiling where the paint was peeling in patterns I had memorized over the years. Sleep did not come. My body was still restless, still carrying the vibrations of the train, the tension of the journey, the images that would not leave my mind.

The memory came again unbidden—Amma kneeling on the dirty toilet floor, her saree pulled up around her knees, her mouth around Ravi, the moment he had finished on her face. My body reacted to the memory with a traitorous heat that I hated myself for feeling, my cock twitching against my thigh even as my stomach churned with disgust. I turned to the side and pressed my face into the thin pillow, trying to push the thoughts away, but they would not leave.

It was hard to accept how much she had changed in such a short time. The same mother who had once moved through our house so carefully, so quietly, always aware of boundaries and propriety, was now someone who would kneel on a filthy train floor and take a man into her mouth while her husband slept nearby. The transformation was terrifying in its completeness, in the way she had crossed lines that could not be uncrossed.

My mind moved to Ravi, as it always did. He had already won my grandparents to his side, had broken Appa completely in that dark lane, had gained control over every aspect of the situation. The only thing still standing between him and full possession of my mother was that she did not know the real conversation that had happened between him and Appa that night. She still believed the lie that Appa had asked for drinking money, that he had threatened Ravi, that he was the author of his own destruction.

I kept thinking about what would happen when she became pregnant, when the child growing inside her made the situation impossible to hide, impossible to deny. Would she then move fully toward Ravi without looking back? Would Appa simply fade away, a ghost in his own home, while Ravi took his place at the head of our family?

The thoughts kept circling in my mind like vultures, picking at the edges of my sanity, until my eyes finally grew heavy and sleep pulled me under into a darkness filled with images I could not escape.

Morning light entered the room through the small window, falling across my face with a warmth that seemed obscene given what lay ahead. I woke slowly, my head heavy, my body stiff from the poor sleep. When I stepped out into the hall, the scene was exactly as I had left it—Appa lying in the same position on the cot, his back still turned toward the room, his body unmoving as if he had not shifted once during the night.

Near the kitchen, Amma was standing with my grandmother and grandfather. They were speaking in low voices, their heads close together, the sound of their conversation a soft murmur that stopped the moment they noticed me coming. My grandmother cleared her throat with a deliberate sound and changed the subject to something ordinary about breakfast, her voice too loud, too bright, too obviously false.

I understood immediately that they had been talking about Appa and Ravi, about the situation that was becoming impossible to ignore.

My grandmother's face still carried a determined look, as if she had not finished trying to influence Amma, as if the conversation I had interrupted was only a pause in a longer campaign. Amma's eyes appeared slightly red and wet, the rims pink from held-back tears, but she controlled herself and turned toward the stove, keeping her face down so that I could not read her expression.

The atmosphere in the house remained tight and uncomfortable even in the morning light, perhaps even more so, as if the daylight made the secrets harder to hide.

We sat on the floor for breakfast, the same positions we had occupied for years but now feeling alien and wrong. Amma served rice, sambar, and a simple side dish of fried vegetables, her movements mechanical, her eyes not meeting anyone's. The sound of the vessels and the soft clinking of spoons filled the room, but the conversation remained thin and careful, everyone choosing their words as if walking through a field of hidden traps.

My grandmother spoke about ordinary things—the train journey, the crowd at the temple, how the village looked exactly the same as when they had left it. My grandfather added a few short comments, his voice gruff. Amma replied only when necessary, her answers brief and neutral. Appa did not join us. He remained on the cot, turned away, and did not eat with everyone, did not even acknowledge that food was being served.

Once or twice my grandmother's eyes moved toward Appa's back, and her expression hardened with each glance, her disapproval growing more visible, but she did not say anything directly in front of me. The silence spoke for her.

After we finished eating, my grandmother wiped her hands on her saree and spoke with deliberate casualness. "We have to visit one relative in the village," she said. "We will go now and come back before lunch."

Amma nodded, not asking which relative, not questioning the timing. "Alright. Come back in time, I will keep food ready."

My grandmother and grandfather got up, took a small bag that seemed too light for a real visit, and left the house. The door closed behind them with a soft sound that seemed to echo in the sudden quiet.

The house felt different without them, quieter in a way that was not peaceful but tense, as if the removal of their presence had stripped away a layer of pretense that was no longer necessary.

After they left, the hall became silent again, the silence of two people who had run out of things to say to each other. Appa was still lying on the cot in the same position, his face still turned toward the wall, his breathing slow and regular. Amma finished washing the vessels at the pump outside, drying her hands on her saree with movements that were too careful, too deliberate.

For a few moments she stood near the kitchen doorway, looking at Appa's still form. I could see the war on her face—the old habit of concern fighting against the new narrative that Ravi had planted, the belief that Appa was a drunk who had chosen his bottle over his family.

Then she walked closer and stopped near the cot, her shadow falling across his body.

"How long will you keep lying like this?" she asked, her voice low but carrying an edge of sharpness that cut through the silence. "My parents are here. At least sit properly and talk when they are in the house. Show some dignity."

Appa did not turn toward her. For a long moment, he did not move at all. Then his voice came out, flat and dry, devoid of any emotion that could be called human.

“Why? So I can sit here and act like everything is normal? Like nothing has changed in this house?”

Amma's face tightened at once, her features hardening into a mask of anger and defensiveness. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, the knuckles whitening. She opened her mouth as if to reply, to defend herself, to explain, then closed it again. The words seemed stuck in her throat, caught between guilt and justification.

Appa shifted slightly on the cot, turning his face further toward the wall, ending the conversation as thoroughly as if he had slammed a door.

Amma stood there for a few more seconds, her breathing uneven, her chest rising and falling with suppressed emotion. Finally she turned away without saying anything else and went back toward the kitchen, her footsteps heavy on the floor. The distance between them felt colder and sharper than before, a chasm that had widened into something that might never be bridged.

A short while later, I heard movement from the cot. Appa slowly sat up, his movements careful, as if his body were fragile and might break. His face looked tired and empty, the face of a man who had exhausted his capacity for feeling. He did not look at Amma or me.

He picked up a towel from the hook near the door and walked to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound of water began—first the splash of bucket water, then the steady stream of a bath that went on longer than usual. When he came out, his hair was wet and slicked back, and he was wearing clean clothes—a simple shirt and veshti that he saved for important occasions.

Amma watched him from the kitchen but did not speak. I also remained quiet, unsure of what he was planning, my heart beating faster with a premonition I could not name.

Appa walked to the corner where his bag still sat, picked it up, and moved toward the front door. He did not say where he was going. He did not say when he would return. He did not look back at the house that had been his home for twenty years, at the wife who was no longer fully his, at the son who watched him with helpless eyes.

He simply opened the door and stepped out, his figure disappearing into the morning light.

The door closed behind him with a dull sound that seemed to mark the end of something.

Amma stood still for a moment, staring at the closed door, her face unreadable. I felt a clear confusion rising inside me, mixed with fear. His sudden decision to bathe, to dress properly, to leave without a word after so many hours of complete withdrawal—it felt wrong, ominous, like a man preparing for something final.

I walked into the kitchen where Amma was standing near the stove, wiping her hands on her saree even though they were already dry. Her shoulders looked tense, held rigidly as if she were fighting to maintain control.

"Amma," I said, my voice sounding loud in the quiet house, "why is Appa behaving like this? He didn't speak to anyone, and now he just left without saying anything. Where is he going?"

[img][/img]

Her hands stopped moving. For a moment she did not look at me, her eyes shifting toward the floor, then toward the door, like someone searching for a safe answer that would not reveal too much.

"It's nothing," she said finally, her voice uneven, the words coming out too quickly. "You know how he is. Last night also… he asked for money to drink. When he didn't get it, he got angry and went quiet. He is probably looking for his friends, for someone who will give him what he wants."

I stayed silent. She was repeating the same story Ravi had told her, the lie that had become her truth, the narrative that allowed her to see Appa as the villain and Ravi as the victim.

Amma continued, her tone growing sharper, as if she were convincing herself as much as me. "He couldn't even sit properly when my parents came. No respect, no words, nothing. All these years I managed everything—the house, the money, the children—and he still only thinks about alcohol. He doesn't see what this family is going through. He doesn't care."

She pressed her lips together and looked away, her face hardening. Then she turned back to me, placed her hand on my shoulder, and spoke more slowly, her voice dropping to a tone that was almost gentle.

"Don't keep thinking about all this. These problems are not for you to carry. They are between adults, between husband and wife. One day… you should leave this village and live somewhere far away. Make your own life, away from all this."

I stared at her, confused by the sudden turn in the conversation. "What are you saying, Amma? Why would I leave? What happened suddenly? This is my home. I want to stay with you and Appa. We can fix whatever is wrong."

Her fingers tightened slightly on my shoulder, pressing into the muscle with an urgency that felt strange. Her face became firm, her eyes meeting mine with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.

"I have never asked you for anything, have I?" she said. "I have never forced you to do anything against your will. But this one thing… when the time comes and I tell you to go, you must leave. Without arguing. Without looking back. And without hating me for it."

"Amma, why are you talking like this?" I asked, my voice rising with panic I couldn't control. "I want to stay with you and Appa. We can fix whatever is wrong. Tell me what to do, and I will do it. Don't send me away."

She cut me off before I could continue, her voice sharp now, brooking no argument.

"Your Appa is not the same man anymore," she said. "The way this house is now… the way my life is going… I don't like it. I don't like what it is becoming. But at least your life should be safe. That is enough for me. That is all I want."

Her voice was steady, but her eyes looked tired and heavy, carrying a weight that seemed to have aged her twenty years in a matter of days.

A short silence fell between us, thick and uncomfortable. I didn't know what to say, how to respond to this request that felt like a preparation for something catastrophic. Amma kept looking at me, as if she were deciding whether to speak further or to retreat back into silence.

Then, suddenly, she asked in a low but clear voice that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside her, a place of desperate honesty that she usually kept hidden—

"What is your opinion… if Amma gets a second marriage?"

The question hit me so directly that I froze, my mind going blank, my mouth opening slightly but no words coming out. My face must have shown everything—shock, confusion, discomfort, the dawning realization that she was seriously considering what Ravi had offered, what my grandmother had advised.

Amma's expression changed at once, her eyes widening as if she had surprised herself, as if the words had escaped before she could stop them. She looked away quickly, shaking her head, her hand rising as if to wave away the question.

"Okay… leave it," she said, her voice higher now, strained. "Forget what I said. Don't think about it. It was just a thought, nothing important."

She stepped closer, placed a hand on my back, and gently but firmly guided me toward the door. "Go outside for some time. Don't sit inside and keep thinking. Go for a walk, get some fresh air. Go."

Before I could respond, before I could ask the questions that were burning in my mind, she almost pushed me out and closed the door behind me. The latch made a soft sound as she locked it from the inside, leaving me standing on the doorstep in the morning sun, my mind reeling.

I did not leave the house compound immediately. Something in her voice and face did not feel right, a desperation that went beyond the question she had asked. I walked quietly around the side of the house, my feet making no sound on the packed earth, and stopped near the small window that looked into the hall.

Through the gap in the curtain, I saw Amma.

She was sitting on the floor with her back against the closed door, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. Both her hands were covering her face, pressing into her eyes. Her shoulders were shaking—silently, without sound, but unmistakably. She was crying, not loudly, but in a broken, controlled way, as if even now she was trying not to make a sound, trying to maintain the mask of strength that was cracking apart.

For a long moment I just stood there watching her, feeling helpless and small. She looked trapped, nothing like the composed woman who had been speaking to me a few minutes earlier, nothing like the woman who had knelt on a train floor and accepted her lover's pleasure. She looked like a child, lost and frightened, overwhelmed by forces she could not control.

I felt a heavy tightness in my chest, a pressure that made breathing difficult. I didn't know whether to go back inside and comfort her, to call out to her through the window, or to respect her privacy and leave her to her grief. In the end I did neither. I stepped away from the window slowly, carefully, and walked out toward the lane, carrying the image of her crying alone behind the closed door like a wound that would not heal.

I walked through the village lanes with a heavy mind, not going anywhere in particular, just moving to escape the weight of what I had seen. Amma's words kept turning in my head—her request that I should one day leave, the sudden question about second marriage, the tears she had tried to hide. The morning sun was already strong, beating down on the packed earth roads, and the streets were beginning to fill with ordinary sounds: vessels being washed outside houses, a cycle bell ringing, someone calling out to a neighbor from a doorway.

I passed the tea stall where Appa used to sit with his friends, but it was empty now, too early for the regulars. I passed the small temple where women left flowers, the grocery shop with its sacks of rice and lentils piled outside. Everything looked normal, unchanged, as if the world had not shifted beneath our feet.

When I passed near Ravi's house, I suddenly heard familiar voices. I stopped, my body going still.

It was my grandmother's voice, clear and unmistakable. A moment later I heard my grandfather as well, his deeper tone carrying through the open window.

I stood still, confused. They had clearly said they were going to visit a relative. Why were they inside Ravi's house?

I moved closer, careful not to make noise, and positioned myself near the side window where a small gap in the curtain allowed a partial view inside. Through the narrow opening, I could see my grandmother and grandfather sitting on the plastic chairs in Ravi's front room. Ravi was opposite them, his posture respectful, his face calm. Meena was also there, sitting slightly to the side, her expression neutral as she listened to the conversation.

The talk sounded normal and polite, the kind of conversation that neighbors have after a journey. They were discussing the temple trip, the train journey, general things about the village. Nothing important was being discussed while Meena was present—Ravi was too careful for that, too controlled to reveal anything in front of his wife.

After a few minutes, my grandmother asked for water, her voice casual. Meena got up without complaint and went toward the kitchen, her footsteps receding.

The moment Meena's back was turned, my grandmother's expression changed. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes sharp, and made a quick signal to Ravi with a slight tilt of her head. In a low voice, just loud enough for him to hear, she said—

"Come near the lake after some time. We will be there. We need to talk properly."

Ravi understood at once. He gave a small, controlled nod, his face remaining calm, showing nothing that Meena might notice when she returned.

Meena came back with the water, handing the glass to my grandmother with a smile. The grandparents drank, spoke a few more ordinary lines about visiting another time, and then got up to leave. They stepped out of the house, their faces composed, as if they had simply been paying a neighborly visit.

I moved back and stayed out of sight behind a low wall, my heart beating fast. A few minutes later, Ravi also came out. He said something to Meena from the doorway—a simple excuse about needing to go out for a short while, some business to attend to—and then started walking in the direction of the lake.

I waited a few seconds, counting to ten in my head, and then followed him.

I kept a clear distance, walking on the side of the path where the trees and low walls gave some cover, where I could duck behind a bush or a cart if he turned around. Even while doing this, a thought came to me—Ravi probably already knew that I often followed and watched. He was too observant, too controlled, not to have noticed my patterns by now. Still, I could not stop myself. The need to know was stronger than the fear of being discovered.

Ravi walked at a steady pace, without looking around too much, his steps confident and unhurried. He did not appear hurried or anxious, just a man going about his business on a normal morning.

When I reached the lake area, I saw my grandmother and grandfather already standing under the shade of a large banyan tree near the water's edge. The lake stretched out behind them, calm and still in the morning light, reflecting the sky like a mirror. Ravi approached them, and they moved a little further from the open path, positioning themselves so that their voices would not carry easily to anyone passing by.

I stayed back and carefully shifted to a spot behind a thicker tree and a small rise in the ground, where the vegetation was denser. From there, I could see them clearly enough through the gaps in the leaves, and their voices reached me when the wind was right, carrying fragments of conversation across the still air.

I settled into the hiding place, pressing myself against the rough bark of the tree, and began to listen.

[img][/img]

From my hiding place, I could see the three of them clearly. My grandmother stood with her hands clasped together in front of her, her face tired but determined. My grandfather looked more serious, heavier, the weight of his age and his decisions showing in his posture. Ravi stood calmly in front of them, his hands at his sides, his expression attentive and respectful, waiting for them to speak.

My grandmother was the first to break the silence. Her voice was low and emotional, carrying a weight of years and disappointment.

"I don't even know whether I should feel happy or sad," she said, her words coming slowly. "All these years we watched Lakshmi's life go down, sinking lower and lower. Our other daughters are settled. They have proper husbands, proper homes, children who are doing well. Only she kept suffering, year after year, with that man who could not provide, could not protect, could not even stay sober."

She paused, looking down at her clasped hands, gathering her thoughts.

"We never truly liked Murugan," she continued. "We said it many times, from the very beginning. No steady work, no responsibility, no family backing. But she loved him, or thought she did. Because she loved him, she stayed and accepted everything. And what did she get in return? Only more problems. More debt. More shame."

Her voice became slightly thicker, choked with emotion that she was trying to control.

"When she told us about this marriage with you… for a moment it felt like happiness after so many years of worry. The astrologer had said she would have a second husband, that her first would fail her. We didn't take it seriously then, thought it was just words. Now it has become real. She has found a man who can take care of her, who has the means to give her what she deserves."

She looked at Ravi directly, her eyes sharp despite the tears gathering in them.

"But she is still confused," she said. "She feels guilt. She feels she is doing something wrong, betraying her vows, abandoning her duty. That weight is still there inside her, eating at her. She doesn't know whether to move forward or to go back to the suffering she knows."

My grandfather cleared his throat, a sound like gravel, and spoke in a more practical tone that cut through the emotion.

"What my wife is saying is correct," he said. "We feel some relief, yes. A man has come forward to take responsibility for our daughter, to give her a better life. But we are not fully satisfied yet. In the eyes of the village, in the eyes of the law, Murugan is still her husband. As long as that connection remains unbroken, nothing is complete. Nothing is safe."

He looked steadily at Ravi, his gaze unwavering.

"Only when that connection is broken properly, when she is free of him, can you and Lakshmi live without fear, without hiding. Until then, everything stays half-done, always at risk of exposure, always waiting to collapse."

There was a short silence as Ravi absorbed these words. Then my grandfather asked the harder questions, the practical concerns that showed he had thought this through.

"What will you do if Meena comes to know?" he asked. "Have you thought about that? She is not a fool. She will notice eventually, if she hasn't already. And what will you say to the village when this comes out one day? Because it will come out. Secrets always do."

Ravi remained composed, his face showing nothing of his thoughts. He did not answer immediately, letting the questions hang in the air.

My grandfather continued, his voice firmer now, carrying the weight of his authority as family elder.

"We are telling you this because she is our daughter," he said. "Do not hurt her. Do not destroy her with false promises. And the boy—Arjun—he should not be damaged by all this. Whatever happens, you must protect them both. That is all we are asking. That is what we expect from the man who takes our daughter."

Ravi finally nodded once, a slow, deliberate movement. "I understand," he said quietly, his voice steady and sincere. "I will not let anything happen to her. I will protect her, and the boy. This I promise."

My grandfather studied him for a long moment, as if weighing the truth of these words, trying to read what lay behind the calm mask. Then he reached into his folded veshti and took out a small bundle of notes, folded and pressed flat. He held it out toward Ravi.

"Keep this for now," he said. "A small amount, for the expenses that will come. Once everything is properly settled, once she is truly yours in the eyes of all, we will give the dowry the right way, the proper way. But this is to show that we accept you, that we give our blessing."

Ravi hesitated for a second, his eyes flickering to the money, then back to my grandfather's face. Then he reached out and accepted it, tucking it into his pocket with a smooth movement.

Both my grandparents raised their hands in blessing, the traditional gesture of elders giving their approval. My grandmother's eyes were wet now, tears streaming down her face, but there was also a strange sense of relief in her expression, as if a burden had been lifted. After a few more quiet words that I could not catch, they turned and began walking away from the lake, their figures gradually disappearing down the path.

Ravi did not leave immediately. He stayed near the water, alone, watching their departure with an unreadable expression.

For a while he simply stood there, looking out at the lake where a few birds were skimming the surface. Then he reached into his pocket and took out a cigarette, lighting it with a match that flared briefly in the morning light. He smoked slowly, inhaling deeply, the smoke rising and drifting away in the still air.

His face remained calm, but his eyes showed that he was thinking deeply, calculating, planning his next moves. After a few pulls on the cigarette, a small smile appeared at the corner of his mouth—a smile that was controlled, satisfied, and cold, the smile of a man who had won a significant victory.

From my hiding place behind the tree, I felt a clear heaviness settle in my chest, a weight that made it difficult to breathe. This conversation had given him more than just support. It had given him confidence, legitimacy, the formal acceptance of my mother's parents. They had asked him to protect her, but in doing so, they had also strengthened the path that was slowly breaking our family apart, pushing my mother further into his arms and away from the husband she had vowed to honor.

Ravi finished the cigarette, crushed it under his foot with a twist of his heel, and began walking back toward the village, his steps light, his posture relaxed, a man who had secured his position and was now ready to enjoy the fruits of his labor.

I remained behind the tree for a long time after he left, unable to move, unable to think, understanding with terrible clarity that the circle around my mother was closing tighter than before. The conspiracy of silence was becoming a conspiracy of acceptance, and I was the only one left who saw the trap for what it was.

[img][/img]

[Paty@123]

Now the story is reaching the climax, we have to watch how Arjun will behave, already Murugan has left the home and whether he comes back or not, it is a tipical question, elders have accepted the reation of Ravi and lakshmi with the name of astrology, Lakshmi involuntarily uttered a word before arjun, though with some inner conflicts, we have to wait and see what will happen

[Paty@123]

As Arjun understands the cheating and manuplational behaviour of Ravi, it is a trap against Lakshmi

[Brutal Hunk]

Absolutely Amazing! The Web Being Skillfully Woven. The Parents Absolutely Fooled. As Far As I Think, Ravi May Claim That He Loves Lakshmi, But The Truth Is That, Once Under The Context Of Surrogacy, He Laid Eyes Over Lakshmi, He Wanted To Corner Her, Abed Her At Any Cost!

In Previous Chapter, When They All Leave For The Temple, Lakshmi Clearly Sats That She Feels That Ravi Is With Her Only For Sex As He Never Discusses Anything With Her But Is Always Interested In Cornering Her. And Even If Meena Accepts Lakshmi, She Won't Have A Status More Than A Breeding Cow And An Experienced Maid! Maybe In The Epilogue, She May Feel Sorry For Accepting Their Offer. Or Saying That She Would Have It With Her Husband Rather Than Ravi!

[Script]

In future if somebody takes sex movie. This is the script, this one should taken as movie every emotion is there.. The author is biggest gift to us

[Paty@123]

When is going tobe next update plz, we eagerly waiting for Lakshmi and meena knowing about the trap of trap of Ravi on Lakshmi, and physical assault on Murugan, aswell as physical and emotional blackmail on Arjun, and lakshmi know the inner conflicts of arjun and voyourness of Arjun and her reaction towards all above

[Waseem990]

interesting story

[wxxxx]

Murugan will come to realize his mistake regarding his role as a husband. Lakshmi had entered into an illicit sexual relationship with Ravi—prompted by financial assistance and persuasion from Ravi and Meena—in order to save their daughter's life, a step necessitated by Murugan's financial instability. Due to his severe alcohol addiction, Murugan had refrained from physical intimacy with his wife, Lakshmi, for many years. Murugan will plead with Lakshmi not to leave the family, urging her to consider the future of their only child, Arjun. He will no longer object to the sexual relationship between his wife and Ravi until the money Lakshmi accepted for surrogacy—as per the agreement with Ravi and Meena—is fully repaid. However, Murugan will impose a condition: from now on, any sexual encounters with Ravi must take place within their own bedroom. The author, Lousy1995, is requested to give special consideration to the points mentioned above.

[aravindkkumar08]

I think some where meenas character is downgraded and urugan try to fight silently now I think may be arjun will be the winner in end. Just casually thinking instead of Lakshmi Meena get pregnant by arjun

[Script]

1. Meena is infertile, so she cannot get conceive that's why they chose Lakshmi

2. If Arjun able to have sex with meena.. he could have stop ravi, he don't have that guts

3.ravi is calculated super villain.. he will not make Arjun to degrade him. If something gone wrong his mom gonna suffer for that.

4. The story title is (a mom village story) a son point of view

The author has built this story like a concrete pillar—one wrong suggestion could make everything collapse. But personally, I trust the author’s skills and the way he is taking the story. I’m sure he knows exactly where he’s taking it. Looking forward to seeing how it unfolds!

[Paty@123]

When is going tobe the next update and your early updates are appreciated

[aravindkkumar08]

Hey bro you told adding some more character. Even though the story line and love making scenes gr8 but it's getting repitative as the scene is happening between Lakshmi and Ravi. Atleast use meenas character with someone or with Ravi and Lakshmi. Even story wise no problem. Check anything can be done. It is only sincere request

[Paty@123]

Any update today?

[vk64]

Update

[Raj_Rohan]

Really awesome author.
Tharmana sambavam ah iruku

Finally Mom has given the hint to his son.
1. Try to survive on ur own.
2. Is fine for u if get 2nd marriage.

It means, something was happened in kitchen btw lakshmi and grandma. Grandma support her daughter like a pillar.

I think Grandma planned how to divorce murugan and kickout her grand son from lakshmi.
Definitely all this with help of Ravi (The mastermind)

Waiting for next update. It will be nice if u update today.

[wxxxx]

Most readers feel the story should progress while keeping family bonds intact. If his mother, Lakshmi, were to enter into a second marriage, Arjun’s social standing would be compromised; as a mother, Lakshmi would never want her only son’s social status to suffer. Until she repays the money she received from Ravi for surrogacy, Lakshmi—with the consent of her husband, Murugan—will engage in sexual intercourse with Ravi in their bedroom, right in front of Murugan.