08-01-2026, 07:17 PM
The weekend arrived not with the usual heavy tread of exhaustion, but with a frantic, buoyant energy that seemed foreign on Ani’s gaunt frame. When he walked through the door, the grimeworn fatigue that usually clung to him like coal dust was replaced by a feverish glow. He dropped his bag, disregarding the weeks of accumulated laundry, and grabbed Shweta’s hands, his grip trembling.
"It’s done, Shweta. It’s finally done," he breathed, his eyes shining with a wet, desperate hope. "They made me permanent. The union signed it yesterday. And the quarter... type-B quarter in the township. It’s ours."
He laughed, a sound that cracked with relief, and pulled her into a hug that felt frail compared to the iron-banded embraces she had grown accustomed to in the room downstairs. "No more weekends only. I’m taking you with me. Next week. We’re going to be a real family."
Shweta stood rigid in his arms for a heartbeat before muscle memory took over. She smoothed her features into a mask of practiced joy, widening her eyes and forcing a smile that didn't reach the cold calculation churning in her gut. "That’s... that’s wonderful" she said, her voice steady. She kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his sweat, so different from the musk of the man she had been with just hours before.
While Ani babbled on about the kitchen size in Durgapur and the 24-hour water supply, Shweta’s mind was already elsewhere, doing the arithmetic of survival. She excused herself, retreating to the bathroom, locking the door with a sharp click.
She stared at her reflection in the spotted mirror. Her period was late. Three weeks late. She looked down at her flat stomach, her hand hovering over the cotton of her saree. The timeline was mercilessly precise. Ani had been gone for the shutdown for nearly a month, too exhausted to do anything but sleep during his last brief visit. But Sumu... Sumu had been insatiable. Every afternoon. Every night while the house slept.
The nausea she had felt earlier wasn't from the heat. It was a biological certainty.
Panic flickered for a second, then died, strangled by a cold, new resolve. This wasn't a disaster; it was an exit strategy. It was the lock on the door of her future. A child would cement Ani’s devotion. He would work himself to the bone for a baby he believed was his, and she would be the revered mother, safe in a company quarter, miles away from the temptation and the danger of the ancestral home.
She washed her face, the water cool against her flushing skin, and walked out to find Sumu.
He was in his room, the site of their rawest transgressions, doing pushups against the floor, his back muscles rippling under a sheen of sweat. When she entered, he sprang up, a smirk playing on his lips, assuming she had come for a quick stolen moment while Ani bathed.
"He’s happy, isn't he?" Sumu scoffed, stepping toward her, his presence looming and heavy. "Let him have his moment. Tonight, you come to me. I’ll make you forget him again."
"I'm leaving, borda," Shweta said, her voice devoid of the breathy want he was used to. She didn't step back as he approached; she stood her ground, armored in her secret. "We are moving to Durgapur on Tuesday."
Sumu stopped, his brow furrowing. "You're going nowhere. You think you can play house in some dirty industrial town after what we’ve done? You need this. You need me." He reached for her, his hand aiming for her waist, possessive and familiar.
Shweta caught his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly firm. "It's over."
"Over?" Sumu let out a dark, incredulous laugh. "You think you can just turn it off? You belong to me, Shweta. His touch makes you sick. I know it does."
"I'm pregnant," she said.
The words sucked the air out of the room. Sumu froze, his eyes dropping instantly to her belly, then snapping back to her face. His mind worked the same calculus hers had. He knew Ani’s schedule. He knew the sounds of the house. A flicker of pride, primal and arrogant, lit up his eyes, warring with the sudden, crushing realization of what this meant.
"It’s mine," he whispered, a statement, not a question. He took a step closer, his hand trembling as he reached out, perhaps to claim the life he had planted. "That is my blood, Shweta."
She stepped back, putting the threshold between them. "It is Ani’s child," she said, her voice icy and final. "He will raise it. He will love it. And he will never know. Unless you want to destroy this family and shame your own blood, you will never speak of it."
Sumu looked at her, seeing for the first time not the lonely, pliable girl he had seduced, but a woman hardened by the very sins he had taught her. He looked at her stomach, a mix of rage and impotent longing twisting his features. He had conquered her body, but she was stealing his legacy.
"You're a devil," he murmured, half in awe.
"I'm a mother," she replied, and closed the door.
***
The departure two days later was a flurry of activity. The yellow Ambassador taxi idled at the gate, its trunk yawning open to swallow their suitcases. Ani was manic with energy, directing the driver, checking the locks, bowing to touch the feet of the elders. He looked like a man who had won the lottery, oblivious to the fact that the prize was counterfeit.
Shweta settled into the back seat. The humid air clung to her, heavy with the scent of impending rain. As the engine sputtered to life, she turned her head toward the house one last time.
Sumu stood by the main entrance, leaning against the pillar. He wasn't waving. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable to anyone but her. To the world, he was the supportive cousin seeing them off. To Shweta, he was the co-conspirator, the silenced partner, the biological ghost that would haunt her marriage forever.
Their eyes locked across the dusty courtyard. There was no love in the look, no lingering romance. It was cold—a silent agreement that the game was finished, the price had been paid, and the secret would be carried across the state. He gave a barely perceptible nod, a surrender to her blackmail, and turned away, walking back into the shadows of the house where her moans still lingered in the walls.
Ani slid in beside her, slamming the door. "Ready, Shweta? Our new life starts now." He beamed, placing a rough, calloused hand over hers.
As the car pulled away, Shweta gently extricated her hand from his and placed it over her barely visible belly, thinking not of the love she was leaving behind, but of the lie she was taking with her, cementing her future as the devoted wife of a man who will unknowingly raise his own brother’s child.
THE END
"It’s done, Shweta. It’s finally done," he breathed, his eyes shining with a wet, desperate hope. "They made me permanent. The union signed it yesterday. And the quarter... type-B quarter in the township. It’s ours."
He laughed, a sound that cracked with relief, and pulled her into a hug that felt frail compared to the iron-banded embraces she had grown accustomed to in the room downstairs. "No more weekends only. I’m taking you with me. Next week. We’re going to be a real family."
Shweta stood rigid in his arms for a heartbeat before muscle memory took over. She smoothed her features into a mask of practiced joy, widening her eyes and forcing a smile that didn't reach the cold calculation churning in her gut. "That’s... that’s wonderful" she said, her voice steady. She kissed his cheek, tasting the salt of his sweat, so different from the musk of the man she had been with just hours before.
While Ani babbled on about the kitchen size in Durgapur and the 24-hour water supply, Shweta’s mind was already elsewhere, doing the arithmetic of survival. She excused herself, retreating to the bathroom, locking the door with a sharp click.
She stared at her reflection in the spotted mirror. Her period was late. Three weeks late. She looked down at her flat stomach, her hand hovering over the cotton of her saree. The timeline was mercilessly precise. Ani had been gone for the shutdown for nearly a month, too exhausted to do anything but sleep during his last brief visit. But Sumu... Sumu had been insatiable. Every afternoon. Every night while the house slept.
The nausea she had felt earlier wasn't from the heat. It was a biological certainty.
Panic flickered for a second, then died, strangled by a cold, new resolve. This wasn't a disaster; it was an exit strategy. It was the lock on the door of her future. A child would cement Ani’s devotion. He would work himself to the bone for a baby he believed was his, and she would be the revered mother, safe in a company quarter, miles away from the temptation and the danger of the ancestral home.
She washed her face, the water cool against her flushing skin, and walked out to find Sumu.
He was in his room, the site of their rawest transgressions, doing pushups against the floor, his back muscles rippling under a sheen of sweat. When she entered, he sprang up, a smirk playing on his lips, assuming she had come for a quick stolen moment while Ani bathed.
"He’s happy, isn't he?" Sumu scoffed, stepping toward her, his presence looming and heavy. "Let him have his moment. Tonight, you come to me. I’ll make you forget him again."
"I'm leaving, borda," Shweta said, her voice devoid of the breathy want he was used to. She didn't step back as he approached; she stood her ground, armored in her secret. "We are moving to Durgapur on Tuesday."
Sumu stopped, his brow furrowing. "You're going nowhere. You think you can play house in some dirty industrial town after what we’ve done? You need this. You need me." He reached for her, his hand aiming for her waist, possessive and familiar.
Shweta caught his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly firm. "It's over."
"Over?" Sumu let out a dark, incredulous laugh. "You think you can just turn it off? You belong to me, Shweta. His touch makes you sick. I know it does."
"I'm pregnant," she said.
The words sucked the air out of the room. Sumu froze, his eyes dropping instantly to her belly, then snapping back to her face. His mind worked the same calculus hers had. He knew Ani’s schedule. He knew the sounds of the house. A flicker of pride, primal and arrogant, lit up his eyes, warring with the sudden, crushing realization of what this meant.
"It’s mine," he whispered, a statement, not a question. He took a step closer, his hand trembling as he reached out, perhaps to claim the life he had planted. "That is my blood, Shweta."
She stepped back, putting the threshold between them. "It is Ani’s child," she said, her voice icy and final. "He will raise it. He will love it. And he will never know. Unless you want to destroy this family and shame your own blood, you will never speak of it."
Sumu looked at her, seeing for the first time not the lonely, pliable girl he had seduced, but a woman hardened by the very sins he had taught her. He looked at her stomach, a mix of rage and impotent longing twisting his features. He had conquered her body, but she was stealing his legacy.
"You're a devil," he murmured, half in awe.
"I'm a mother," she replied, and closed the door.
***
The departure two days later was a flurry of activity. The yellow Ambassador taxi idled at the gate, its trunk yawning open to swallow their suitcases. Ani was manic with energy, directing the driver, checking the locks, bowing to touch the feet of the elders. He looked like a man who had won the lottery, oblivious to the fact that the prize was counterfeit.
Shweta settled into the back seat. The humid air clung to her, heavy with the scent of impending rain. As the engine sputtered to life, she turned her head toward the house one last time.
Sumu stood by the main entrance, leaning against the pillar. He wasn't waving. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, his expression unreadable to anyone but her. To the world, he was the supportive cousin seeing them off. To Shweta, he was the co-conspirator, the silenced partner, the biological ghost that would haunt her marriage forever.
Their eyes locked across the dusty courtyard. There was no love in the look, no lingering romance. It was cold—a silent agreement that the game was finished, the price had been paid, and the secret would be carried across the state. He gave a barely perceptible nod, a surrender to her blackmail, and turned away, walking back into the shadows of the house where her moans still lingered in the walls.
Ani slid in beside her, slamming the door. "Ready, Shweta? Our new life starts now." He beamed, placing a rough, calloused hand over hers.
As the car pulled away, Shweta gently extricated her hand from his and placed it over her barely visible belly, thinking not of the love she was leaving behind, but of the lie she was taking with her, cementing her future as the devoted wife of a man who will unknowingly raise his own brother’s child.
THE END
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