Page 58 of The Ruin I Chose

Later that week, his sister called. She didn’t ask how I was. She didn’t ask what I needed. Just blame, dressed up as a concern. She didn’t hold back. She started by trying to convince me to make things work. But she didn’t understand what it meant to put your feelings above your husband’s—because she never had to.

For her, everything her husband did was right. She followed without question.

“You’ve ruined him,” she spat over the phone. “He was fine before you came along. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger. You always have. If it weren’t for you, he’d be happily married—far from your drama.”

I didn’t respond, just listened. Endured the sting. Because arguing with someone who’s never questioned her own silence is a losing game.

I let her words settle like ash on my skin and didn’t brush them off because I knew they weren’t mine to carry.

That evening, I sat on the terrace with my mother. She lived in the building next door—close enough to help with Kyra, far enough to give me space. She’d always liked Vihaan. Respected him. Which made this harder.

She handed me a cup of tea, her eyes searching mine.

“What’s wrong, Roxanne? Why the sudden change of heart? she asked gently. “I thought you two loved each other.”

I stared out at the garden below, the frangipani tree swaying in the breeze.

“It’s not that easy to explain,” I said. “It’s not one thing, Ma. It’s everything.”

She waited. She always waited. That was her way—quiet patience, even when the truth was heavy.

“I feel like I’ve been fading slowly. Quietly. For years.”

“A woman generally disappears under the shadow of a man post-marriage.” Her voice was calm.

But her eyes held the weight of every year she’d spent invisible. And I saw myself in her—not just as her daughter, but as the echo of a life she once lived.

“That is how it is, responsibility after responsibility. First a good girl, then a good wife, then a good mother. She has to endure it all—or be branded a failure.”

Her words stung. But also struck a chord.

“Is there someone else?” she asked.

I didn’t answer. My breath caught, betraying more than my silence ever could. I just looked out at the horizon, thinking of Marcello. His eyes. His silence. The way he held me like I was something sacred. A memory I couldn’t speak aloud. Because some truths are too tender to survive the light.

My mother sighed.

“Why don’t you try harder? Talk it out.”

“It’s not like I didn’t try, Ma. I thought you, of all people, would understand. I married for love. But that now feels far from it. It feels like a chore.”

“Love changes after marriage, Rox. Especially after a child.”

“I know. But I shouldn’t be begging for it.” I replied.

“Vihaan loves you. I’ve seen it. We all have. The way he provides for the family. The way he shows up. That’s rare.”

How do I explain it?

That what we had was companionship, not connection. A home, not a heartbeat. How do I tell her that the man I once chose, the man I once loved, is now the reason I feel hollow?

She spoke, “It’s hard, you know. Raising a child alone. Even with me here. When your father passed, you were ten. I never remarried. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I was afraid—afraid a new man wouldn’t accept you. So, I chose you. And I’d do it again.”

I reached for her hand, squeezing it.

“People look down on you, like you’re the one at fault. You have to endure it alone. I don’t want you to carry what I carried. To walk the same lonely road. Being answerable at every turn in life. Going through life by yourself. Balancing work and motherhood—it’s hard. A lot more sacrifices have to be made when you’re alone.”

A knot tightened in my chest; I knew she was speaking from scars.