Abandoning his childless wife for a mistress, he reunited four years later at his former mother-in-law’s funeral in India – a husband stunned to see a child who looked exactly like him.

The mournful sounds of the shehnai horn and dhol drums echoed through the sweltering midday heat of a poor village in Tamil Nadu, shattering the otherwise tranquil atmosphere. I stood frozen before the gate of Anjali’s familiar yet strange house, my feet heavy as if weighed down.

Four years had passed.

Four years since we signed the divorce papers, ending five years of marriage and three years of youthful romance.

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my racing heart, then stepped inside.

My former mother-in-law had just passed away.

Although our relationship was over, the bond with the woman who had treated me like her own son made it impossible for me not to return and light a candle in her memory.

Anjali stood beside the coffin, thin and frail. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying so much. In her white mourning sari, she looked so fragile and pitiful. I suddenly realized… how much I had once loved this woman.

We had dreamed of a small home, of children’s laughter in the yard.

But life in India – where the pressure to continue the family line is heavier than anything else – hadn’t given us that.

Memories flooded back.

Two years after our wedding, Anjali still hadn’t gotten pregnant. The pressure from my family grew. My mother hinted, relatives whispered, their words like knives:

“A man can’t be childless.”

“Maybe we should consider marrying someone else.”

The results from the Chennai hospital were a devastating blow: Anjali had difficulty conceiving.

We sold our jewelry, borrowed money from everywhere to try IVF.

Once…
Twice…
Three times…
All failed.

My money ran out, my hope ran out, and so did my heart.

Instead of holding my wife’s hand and overcoming the difficulties together, I ran away. I turned to alcohol, and in a desperate drunken rage, I betrayed Anjali – falling into the arms of another woman.

I foolishly thought:

Maybe I’m not infertile, I just chose the wrong person.

Anjali knew everything.

She didn’t make a fuss, she didn’t make a scene.

She just quietly placed the divorce papers on the table.

At that moment, I… signed them.

I even felt relieved, like I was freed from a stressful marriage.

After lighting an incense stick for Anjali’s mother, I intended to leave immediately. But as soon as I stepped out into the yard…

“Ouch!”

A loud collision.

A boy, about 3 years old, running after a plastic ball, crashed into my leg and fell backward. I quickly bent down to help the boy up:

“I’m sorry, are you hurt?”

The boy looked up.

And my whole body froze.

That face…
It was eerily similar to mine.

A high nose, deep eyes, and especially that cowlick on the left – a trait inherited from my grandfather, through my father, and now to me.

It couldn’t be a coincidence.

Before I could recover from the shock, Anjali ran out of the house. Seeing me holding the child, her face turned pale. She quickly snatched the boy back, hugging him tightly.

“Go inside, son, don’t run around,” she said urgently, then turned to leave.

“Wait!” I said, my voice trembling.

“Anjali… this child…”

She stopped, her back stiff, but didn’t turn around.

“Go home. It’s not convenient to talk today.”

I didn’t go home.

I sat at a roadside tea shop, waiting until evening.

In my mind, only haunting numbers remained:

Divorced four years ago.

A three-year-old child.

Minus nine months of pregnancy…

The timing was terrifyingly precise.

Late at night, the guests had left. I returned. Anjali sat silently on the porch. The child was asleep. Her father looked at me, sighed, and quietly went inside.

“That’s my child… isn’t it?” I asked.

Anjali was silent for a long time.

Then she nodded.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I almost shouted.

“When we divorced… you were pregnant, weren’t you?”

“What good would it do?” she replied calmly.

“You were living with your mistress then. You wanted to get away from me. Would I tell you for your pity?”

I collapsed to my knees.

It turned out… a miracle had happened, but it came at the very moment I betrayed you.

“You’re wrong… give me a chance. We have a child…”

Anjali withdrew her hand, her eyes cold.

“It’s too late.
I’ll let you see the child. But never come back.”

“Why?”

“Because love died the day you betrayed me – when I was at my most desperate.”

She stood up and closed the wooden door.

The sound of the lock clicking shut echoed decisively.

I stood alone in the dark courtyard.

In India, where family is everything… I destroyed my own family with my own hands.

I have a son who looks exactly like me.

But I’ve forever lost the woman who loved me more than herself.

There are mistakes…
Time can never fix.