Despite knowing I was infertile, the groom’s family asked for my hand in marriage. On the wedding night, as I lifted the blanket, I was stunned to learn the reason…
My name is Ananya Sharma, I’m 30 years old. I thought I’d be alone all my life. Three years ago, after surgery at AIIMS in New Delhi, the doctor told me I couldn’t conceive.

That news sent me over the moon. My then-boyfriend of five years—Rohan—was silent the entire evening, then the next day he sent me just one message:

“I’m sorry. Let’s stop now.”

From then on, I stopped thinking about wedding clothes. Until I met Kabir.

Kabir Malhotra was seven years older than me, the new branch manager who had just taken charge of my office in Gurugram. He was polite, calm, and had smiling eyes. I admired him, but kept my distance. How could an ideal man like him choose a woman like me who couldn’t have children? However, he took the initiative to contact me. On nights when he worked overtime, he would bring me a hot lunch box or steaming khichdi. On cold days, he would quietly place a packet of ginger tea on my table.

When he proposed, I cried. I confessed the full truth about my illness. But he just smiled and patted me on the head:

“I know. Don’t worry.”

His family didn’t object either. His mother—Savita Malhotra—came to my house in South Delhi to ask for my hand in marriage, with everything ready. I felt like I was dreaming, wondering if God loved me so much that he blessed me so late.

On the wedding day, I wore a red lehenga and sat holding Kabir’s hand to the tune of a shehnai in the pale light of a small hall in Hauz Khas. I cried seeing his gentle eyes.

On the wedding night, I sat in front of the mirror and removed all my hairpins. Kabir came in from outside, took off his sherwani, and placed it on a chair. He came up to me, wrapped me in his arms from behind, and rested his chin on my shoulder.

“Are you tired?” he asked softly.

I nodded, my heart pounding.

He took my hand and led me to the bed. Then he lifted the blanket. I was stunned…

It wasn’t just the two of us on the bed. There, a little boy of about four years old was fast asleep, with chubby cheeks and long, fluffy eyelashes. He was fast asleep, hugging an old teddy bear.

I turned to him, stammering:

“This… is…”

Kabir stroked my hair, sighing softly:

“This is my son.”

I was speechless. He sat down next to his son, his eyes soft and full of love:
“His mother…was my ex-girlfriend—Mira. At the time, her family was poor, her grandmother was seriously ill, and Mira had left school to work various jobs. She didn’t tell me when she was pregnant. When the child was two, she died in an accident. That’s when I found out I had a child. For the past few years, the child has been with his grandmother in Jaipur. Now that she’s passed away, I’ve brought the child back.”

He looked deeply into my eyes, his voice choked:
“I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. But I need you. I need a mother for my son. And I also need a complete family. Even if you can’t give birth to a child, for me, as long as you love him, that’s enough. I can’t lose you.”

My tears welled up, hot. I sat up in bed, reached out to stroke the baby’s hair. He stirred slightly, his lips moved, and he called out in his sleep:

“Mom…”
I burst into tears. My heart felt like it was breaking. I looked at Kabir, his eyes filled with fear; I was afraid I would leave.

But I couldn’t. I nodded slightly:
“Yes… from now on, I will have a mother.”

Kabir hugged me tightly. Outside the window, the moon shone in the Delhi sky, illuminating the small room of Saket’s apartment. I knew, from now on, my life would enter a new chapter.

I may not be able to become a mother biologically, but I can become a mother through love. And for me, that’s happiness enough.