Chapter 3
I stared at the text.
My vision went red.
Curse.
They called my wife’s cancer a curse.
Maya saw me looking.
Fumbled to lock the phone, face pale.
“It’s nothing,” she said fast.
“Arjun, please, don’t—”
“Nothing?”
I pulled out my own phone.
“Give me their address. Now.”
“Arjun, no. They’re not worth it. Please, let’s just go to the doctor—”
“No.”
I cupped her face in my hands.
Made her look at me.
“They called you a curse, Maya. They disowned you when you were fighting for your life. I’m not letting that slide. Not for a second.”
I found her doctor first.
A tired woman in her fifties, Dr. Fischer, who told me the cancer was aggressive but treatable—if Maya had support.
If she didn’t give up.
“She’s been coming alone for three weeks,” Dr. Fischer said, glancing at Maya.
“Missed two chemo appointments last week. I was starting to worry she’d stop coming entirely.”
I looked at Maya.
She stared at her shoes.
Cheeks flushed with shame.
“I won’t miss another,” I told the doctor.
“I’ll be at every appointment. I’ll take care of her. Whatever you need.”
Dr. Fischer nodded.
Gave me a stack of pamphlets, a schedule of treatments, a list of warning signs to watch for.
Then I called Rohit.
Told him I couldn’t make it to his room today.
Told him why.
“Go,” Rohit said, voice urgent.
“Take care of her. I’m fine. Call me if you need anything—money, a place to stay, anything. I mean it.”
I thanked him.
Then I drove Maya to her family’s apartment.
The same one I’d visited a hundred times when we were dating.
The same one where her mom had hugged me and called me son.
Maya begged me the whole drive not to go.
“They’ll just be cruel, Arjun. Please. Let’s just go home.”
Home.
The word made my chest ache.
“I am taking you home,” I said.
“But first, I’m saying what needs to be said.”
I parked the car.
Walked up to the door.
Rang the bell.
Her mom, Lakshmi, opened it.
Dressed in a silk sari, hair perfect, like she’d been waiting for a guest.
When she saw me, her face hardened.
Then she saw Maya, behind me, in her hospital gown, thin and shaking.
She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t reach for her daughter.
Just crossed her arms.
“Arjun. What do you want?”
I stepped forward.
Made sure my voice was loud enough for the whole building to hear.
“Your daughter has cancer. She’s been fighting it alone for two months. And you sent her a text calling her a curse.”
Lakshmi’s lip curled.
Behind her, Maya’s sister Priya appeared.
Same cold look on her face.
“She is a curse,” Priya said.
“Two miscarriages. Couldn’t keep a husband. Now this? What else would you call it? She’s brought shame on this family.”
Maya made a small, hurt sound behind me.
I felt her hand on my arm, pulling me back.
I didn’t move.
“Shame?” I snarled.
“You want to talk shame? You threw your own flesh and blood out when she was dying. You call that family? You’re monsters. Both of you.”
Lakshmi laughed.
Cold, sharp.
“She’s your problem now, Arjun. You divorced her. You get to clean up the mess. We’re done with her. If she dies, don’t bother calling us for the funeral.”
She slammed the door in our faces.
I stood there, shaking with rage.
Then I turned to Maya.
She was crying again.
Silent tears streaming down her face.
I pulled her into my arms.
“Hey,” I whispered.
“Hey, look at me. You don’t need them. You have me. You have Rohit. We’re your family now. Okay?”
She nodded against my chest.
Sobbing hard now, the kind of cry that shakes your whole body.
The kind she’d probably been holding in for months.
I picked her up.
Carried her to the car.
Belted her in.
Drove her to my small rented apartment.
The one that had felt so empty for two months.
Suddenly, it felt like the only place in the world that mattered.
I carried her inside.
Laid her on my couch.
Wrapped her in the old blanket she’d made me for our first anniversary.
Made her tea, the way she liked it—honey, no sugar.
When I came back, she was asleep.
Tear tracks on her cheeks.
Hand curled around the edge of the blanket, like she was afraid it would be taken away.
I sat on the floor beside her.
Held her hand.
And swore to God, to the universe, to anyone who would listen.
May you like
I would make this right.
No matter what it cost.
