Misc. Erotica The Astrologer and My Wife (COMPLETED)- By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

Over the next one week, the house did not return to normal.

My son stayed in his room most of the time. He barely spoke. He did not open his books. He did not watch television. He simply sat with the failed result sitting somewhere behind his eyes, quiet and broken. Every time I passed his door, I found him either staring at the wall or lying on the bed with his face turned away.
My wife was worse.
And she was adamant.

This was not ordinary sadness. It was the pain of a mother who had given everything and still watched her son fail. Throughout the exam months she had sat with him every evening and checked his notes. If he did not understand a portion, she made him read it again. If he felt sleepy at night, she went to the kitchen and made coffee for him with her own hands, brought it to his table, and stayed awake so he would not fall asleep over the books. There were many nights when she did not sleep at all. She would sit on the chair near him, keep his water ready, keep his coffee ready, and wait until he finished the last page. She had done all that with one hope only — that my son should pass this time itself.

Now that hope had broken, and the pain sat openly on her face.
She stopped focusing on anything. The same woman who used to keep the house running with care now moved through the rooms like she had lost her centre. She forgot to eat. Morning coffee would go cold on the table. Lunch would remain untouched. At night she would sit with a plate in front of her, take two small bites, and then push it away.
She cried often.
Sometimes in the kitchen. Sometimes in our bedroom after locking the bathroom door. Sometimes while just sitting on the sofa with her hands in her lap. When I tried to talk to her, she would wipe her face quickly and say she was fine, but her eyes remained swollen and helpless.
Even in bed she was not the same.
When I pulled her close at night and tried to fuck her, she turned her face away. Her body stayed stiff. There was no wetness, no small smile, no cooperation like before. She would hold my wrist and shake her head.

“Not now, Shiva. I don’t feel like it.”
I tried once after her bath also, the time I used to enjoy her most. She was clean and fresh, but her mind was not with me. When I hugged her naked body, she rested her head on my chest for a moment and then quietly moved away.
“I can’t. All I can think of is my son. I want him to pass.”
That refusal hurt me more than I showed. My wife, who used to sit on my lap on the sofa and let me put my hand inside her panties, now had no interest in my touch at all.
“I worked so hard for him, Shiva,” she said one night, her voice breaking. “I stayed awake with him. I made coffee whenever he felt sleepy. I helped him study every day. I cannot accept this. He has to pass this time. I want my son to pass.”
I felt sorry for her.
Watching my wife like that hurt more than the failed result itself. So one evening I took her out of the house. I thought if I made her sit away from those rooms, away from our son’s closed door, she might listen. We sat in the car for a while, then I took her to a quiet place and tried to make her understand.
“Sudha, listen to me. He is still young. Failed papers can be written again. Next semester he can clear everything. This is not the end of his life. Don’t destroy yourself like this.”
She shook her head at once.

“No, Shiva. Not next semester. This time itself.”
I held her hand and tried again.
“You stayed awake for him. I know that. I saw you making coffee at midnight. I saw you sitting near him when he studied. I am not saying your effort was small. I am saying one delay will not finish him. Let him write again and pass.”
My wife pulled her hand back. Her eyes were already filling.
“You don’t understand. I did not lose so many nights of sleep for backlogs. I told my friends he would become a successful advocate like you. I told some of them he might even become a judge. If he fails now, what face will I show them? He has to pass this time. I want my son to pass.”
I kept speaking, slowly, carefully, trying to bring her down from that pain.
“People will forget the result. What matters is that he becomes an advocate one day. That can still happen.”
She remained adamant.
“No. I cannot wait. I cannot sit and watch him carry this failure. He has to pass now.”
There was no space left in her for any other thought. No interest in talking about Thailand, money, court, or rest. No interest in my body. No interest even in the small comfort I was trying to give her.
I felt helpless.

I was a successful advocate. I had just won a huge case. I had money, name, and respect. But none of that could stop my wife from crying, or make her eat, or bring her back to my bed. I did not know how to take that pain out of her. Every word I said came back against her same answer — he has to pass this time.
That night, after we returned home and she again sat without eating, I made a decision.
If my words could not reach her, then maybe God would.
My wife had always been religious. She prayed every morning. She believed in temples. If there was any place that could calm her and give her a little strength, it was there.
“Tomorrow I will take you to the temple,” I told her.
She looked at me for a long moment, eyes still wet, and did not refuse.
The house that had always felt ordered and warm now carried a silence that neither money nor my court victories could fill.
And through all of it, one thing remained unchanged in my wife.
She wanted my son to pass.
Nothing else mattered to her anymore.