ABHIMANYU'SPOV
The courtroom feels colder than I imagined.

Not in temperature—in atmosphere.
The kind of cold that settles deep and whispers that a single misstep could unravel everything.

Dhwani sits beside me, her small feet hovering above the ground, fingers clutching her teddy bear tight.
She hasn't said a word since we walked in.

That scares me more than I'd like to admit.
I brush her hair softly—once, twice.
Gentle movements.
Sudden motions make her anxious.
She shifts closer to me.
Good.
Jiya arrives ten minutes late.
Typical.
She strides in as if she commands the space—chin lifted, lipstick flawless, eyes sweeping the room for attention before finally settling on Dhwani.

She doesn't smile at her own daughter.
Not even once.

My teeth grind together.
The judge walks in.
Everyone stands.
Then sits.
"Custody matter regarding Dhwani Bedi," the judge states.

Dhwani trembles at the mention of her name.
I lean close and murmur, "It's alright, princess. Dadda's right here."
Her hold on me tightens as she whispers, "Dha?"
I smile at her. "Aadhya has her practicals, princess. She told you, didn't she?"
Dhwani nods. "I forgot to give Dha my good luck huggy."
I smile. "Well, in that case, Dadda, Dha, and Princess can go for ice cream after Dha's practical ends today."

Dhwani smiles and nods excitedly—forgetting everything around her.

Jiya's lawyer rises, radiating confidence like a viper coiled to strike.
"Your Honor," he starts, his voice smooth and practiced, "this case is about a little girl robbed of her mother."
Robbed.
The word grates. Like Jiya was stolen from Dhwani. Not like she packed her bags and left.
My fists clench.
"Mr. Bedi is a successful man, undeniably," the lawyer continues, the words honeyed with disdain. "A CEO. Secure financially. But a child's emotional well-being requires more than a trust fund."

I fix my gaze on the judge, a stone mask.
"Dhwani is five. She needs nurturing, gentleness, mothering—"
Dhwani squirms beside me.
I lay my palm flat on the cold bench, close enough for her tiny pinky to graze against it.
She stills. Just a little.

"She's grown up without a maternal influence," he concludes, smugly.
No maternal influence.
The urge to laugh is almost overwhelming. A bitter, hollow laugh.
My lawyer signals.
I stand, my heart pounding a dull rhythm against my ribs.
No yelling. No show.
Dhwani can't bear loud noises.

"I've been Dhwani's primary caregiver for the last three years," I say, trying to keep my voice steady. "Since she was two."

Jiya crosses her arms, a wall erected between us.

"She still has nightmares," I admit. "Panic attacks."
The courtroom stills, expectant.

"She doesn't want toys or fairy tales," I explain. "She needs to know I'm there."

I swallow, fighting the tightness in my throat."I sit outside the bathroom door when she's too scared to bathe alone . I count her breaths when the panic rises. I know how tight to hold her to make her feel safe when the world feels too big."
Jiya fidgets, avoids my gaze.
"She isn't lacking love," I say, my gaze hardening. "She is lacking stability. Stability you took from her."
The judge's expression is neutral.

"Mr. Bedi," Jiya's lawyer cuts in smoothly, "you can't seriously claim a child doesn't benefit from her mother?"

I turn to him, slowly, deliberately.

"A child benefits from feeling safe," I reply, my voice quiet but deadly. "And I won't apologize for getting my daughter away from a situation that wasn't."

Jiya scoffs.

"She is her biological mother," he insists.

"Genetics," I reply softly, "doesn't absolve someone of the damage they inflict."
The judge's pen hovers, suspended.

"Mrs. Avery," she says, her voice measured, "how many times have you seen your daughter in the past three years?"

Jiya's posture stiffens, her chin lifting in defiance. "I was unwell. I had cancer. I couldn't—"
"No," I say.

The word is a whisper, barely audible, but it cleaves the air.

Every eye in the room turns.
I meet the judge's gaze. "Your Honor, that statement is false."
Jiya's head whips around. "You don't get to—"
The judge silences her with a raised hand. "Mr. Bedi, proceed."

My pulse thrums, a steady rhythm beneath my skin, but my voice remains calm. This truth has been my constant companion for too long to shake me now.

"Mrs. Avery hasn't seen Dhwani once in the last three years," I state. "No calls, no visits, no messages. Nothing."

Jiya's lawyer surges to his feet. "Hearsay! This is—"
"Documented hearsay," my lawyer counters smoothly, sliding a file forward. "Call logs, medical reports, travel confirmations."

The judge nods, beckoning for the file.

I press on, because once the truth is unleashed, holding back is a luxury I can't afford.

"She abandoned my daughter on my doorstep," I say, each word a precise strike. "A bag of clothes, a birth certificate, and a note."
The courtroom is deathly silent.

"She claimed she was terminally ill," I continue. "Dying of cancer."
Jiya's lips part, but no sound escapes.

"There was no cancer," I say, my voice flat. "No treatment, no diagnosis. She lied, so she could abandon her child, flee the country and rebuild her modeling career in Los Angeles."

A collective murmur sweeps through the room.

The judge's gaze sharpens, drilling into Jiya. "Mrs. Avery, is this true?"

Jiya swallows hard.
"I did what I had to do," she spits. "I was suffocating here!"
"With a child?" the judge asks, her tone glacial.
I close my eyes for a fraction of a second, gathering myself.
"Dhwani was the result of a casual encounter," I reveal. "I was unaware of her existence for the first two years of her life."
The revelation hangs heavy in the air.
"Mrs. Avery concealed the pregnancy, hid the child," I continue. "And when motherhood interfered with her ambitions, she discarded her."
Dhwani stirs , her small body shaking.
Her head lifts, her eyes wide and searching.
She doesn't look at Jiya.
She looks at me.
I kneel instantly, my heart shattering in my chest.
"You're okay, princess," I whisper, my voice trembling. "Dadda is here ."

Her voice is tiny, but clear.
"She didn't come," Dhwani says, the words echoing in the cavernous space.
The courtroom falls silent, every breath held captive.
The judge leans forward, her voice barely audible. "Who didn't come, sweetheart?"

"My mommy," Dhwani says, her voice breaking. "I waited ."
My chest constricts.
"She asked every day until she was three," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "She wanted to know when her mommy was coming back, if she had been good enough. She used to say she will be a good girl for her mommy"
I swallow hard, forcing the words out. "And then... she stopped asking."

Jiya gasps, her composure cracking.
"She accepted me," I continue, my voice gaining strength. "My family, my friends. That became her world."
I rise slowly, drawing myself to my full height.
"That wasn't indoctrination," I say, my voice ringing with truth. "That was the quiet acceptance of abandonment."
The judge removes her glasses, her expression troubled.
"Mrs. Avery," she says, her voice tight, "you fabricated a terminal illness to abandon your child and pursue your own ambitions?"
Jiya's carefully constructed façade crumbles.
"I didn't want a child!" she shrieks. "I wanted my life back!"

The words hang in the air, raw and unforgiving.
Dhwani clings to me, her small arms wrapped tightly around my neck.
The judge exhales slowly, composing herself.
"So noted," she says, her voice even. "The court will take a recess."
The gavel slams down.
People begin to rise, but I stay frozen in place, holding my daughter, protecting her from the ugliness of this world.
In that moment, the only thing that matters is her.
Jiya didn't lose Dhwani.
She threw her away.
And no amount of fucking biology will ever change that.
Dhwani clings to me as if letting go might undo everything.
I press my lips to her hair, breathing her in.
Safe.
Here.
Mine.
But as we turn to leave, I see Jiya's reflection in the courtroom glass.
She isn't crying.
She isn't angry.
She is smiling, cold, and victorious.
And in that moment, I am suddenly hit by the very scary realization that:
Jiya didn't come back for her daughter.
She came back to dismantle the only stability, the only safety—the only family my child has ever known.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hey , my sunshines !!
I am sorry for the long break.
I was busy with my exams and some personal stuff.
Now, I promise to be regular in updating the book.
How are you all doing?
Hows the chapter?

Please like and comment.
I love you all..