“When I am not, the consequences are severe.”
Her heart thudded.
“I will not risk passing forward what should not burden a child,” he said.
The words weren't self-loathing. They were simply stated as a fact.
“I made this decision a long time ago,” he said. “At twenty. Before our engagement or the contract. Before I asked my mother for your hand.”
Yamini stared at him.
“I got a vasectomy procedure done.”
The room felt very quiet as the implications sank in.
“Then I don't understand,” she said slowly. “Why did you pull out each time? Why did you make me take the morning-after pill and get a blood test to verify it?”
“The procedure carries a small failure rate,” he said. “Less than half a percent.”
He held her gaze.
“I did not want to risk even that.”
She thought of him at twenty. Walking into a clinic by himself. Signing whatever was needed. Telling no one, not even his mother or his brothers, and carrying the heavy load for a decade without a single person knowing.
She had spent weeks furious after the morning-after pill incident, thinking that he was being a controlling bastard.
But it had been because he feared he would give her an imperfect child.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“So you decided I should carry some other man’s child?” she asked.
He didn't flinch.
“I decided you deserved a future without limitation.”
“Then what about my genes?” she asked. “I am reckless. Impulsive. I say things without thinking. I do things even if they seem risky. I am far from perfect.”
“I know.” The answer came without hesitation.
“I like those aspects of you,” he added.
Her breath caught.
The words were simply stated as the truth.
The honesty sliced through her heart.
He turned slightly, his gaze drifting to the canvases. Her childhood. Her defiance. Her fire.
“I have spoken to my lawyers,” he said. “The contract will be invalidated. And a divorce will be processed soon.”
Her heart thudded hard.
“Meanwhile, you should leave the country,” he continued calmly. “You should take the position in London as planned.”
He knew.
