Chapter Three: Carrying the Flame

That night, in the stillness of their home, surrounded by his untouched shirt, his half-read book, and the mug he had left on the table, she pressed her hand to her belly.

She had sensed something peculiar that morning. A flutter.

She hadn’t shared the news with Karan yet.

She was expecting a baby.

That’s when she fell apart.

Sitting on the bedroom floor, curled in on herself, she screamed. Not words — just anguish. A pain that lacked form, a name, or resolution.

Her mother rushed in, embracing her, rocking her as she used to when she was a child frightened of thunderstorms.

But this tempest was within her now.

And she had no idea how to endure it.

The days following Karan’s death faded into an indistinct haze.

Phone calls. Condolences. Tea cups left untouched. Plates of food that went unconsumed. Her mangalsutra clung to her neck as if it were unaware it had lost its significance. Her bangles rested in the drawer. The sindoor had long been erased by the tears she couldn’t recall crying.

Ronit moved through the house quietly, his former loud laughter now absent. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.

But within Ashima, something refused to be quiet.

At first, it was merely a flutter. Just a slight movement beneath her ribs. A heartbeat that wasn’t hers, yet felt entirely like her own.

Three days post-funeral, she sat on the examination table in a small clinic. The doctor, an elderly woman with compassionate eyes, examined her ultrasound results.

“You’re approximately four months along,” she stated gently. Considering the trauma, we must be cautious. But the baby appears to be doing well. Very strong.”

Ashima gazed at the screen. That little flicker. That heartbeat.

Karan’s final gift.

“Do you wish to continue the pregnancy?” the doctor inquired softly. “We can provide counseling if you need time

“No,” Ashima declared, surprising even herself with the determination in her voice. “I am going to keep the baby.”

The doctor regarded her for a moment, then nodded in understanding.

Upon returning home, her decision wasn’t celebrated. Her mother was taken aback.

“Beta… please reconsider. You’re so young. Alone. People will have opinions.”

“I am not concerned about what others think.”

“You’ll be a single mother. It will be difficult.”

“I am already a mother,” Ashima stated, resting her hand on her belly. “And this child is all I have left of him.”

Mrs. Sunali Verma didn’t argue further. She simply sat next to her daughter, held her hand, and cried.

Ronit, wide-eyed and silent, finally spoke up. “Can I be the baby’s second dad?”