Every night my husband goes to his ex-wife’s house. I secretly watched him and was stunned to see him tenderly caring for… his ex-wife, who was curled up in bed. But that wasn’t all…
I’ve been married for a year. We live in a small apartment in Bandra, Mumbai.

My husband – Arjun – is gentle, quiet, and very responsible. He was previously married and has a four-year-old daughter named Pari.

From the beginning, I prepared myself for life as a stepmother, but luckily Pari is quite cute and friendly. I didn’t mind Arjun frequently visiting his ex-wife’s house to see his daughter. Until it became every night.

— “She’s sick again,” he said.

— “Pari is crying for her dad,” he said.

— “She has a high fever, I have to stay and look after her.”

I didn’t say anything. At first.

But by the third week, I felt so uneasy… I couldn’t sleep.

A man can love his child so much—that’s good. But a man with a new family who leaves home at 10 pm every night and returns at 4 or 5 am…is that normal?

I tried to tell myself: Don’t be suspicious. Don’t blame.

But in my heart, another voice whispered:

Or does he still have feelings for his ex-wife?

Decided to follow him.

For the 23rd consecutive night, he used the excuse of “the child having a fever.”

Arjun changed into his kurta and took his car keys.

I said casually:

— Shall I go with you?

Arjun was startled and shook his head:

— No, you should rest. There’s nowhere for you to stay there anyway. I’ll go home early.

Ah. “No place for you.”

Fine.

As soon as he left, I grabbed my dupatta and called a taxi.

I told the driver:

“Uncle, please stay about 50-70 meters away from that car.”

The driver chuckled:

“Following your husband, huh?”

I fell silent, my heart pounding.

Arjun stopped the car in front of his and his ex-wife’s old house: a small house in an alley in Andheri. The lights inside were still on.

He went inside.

One minute, two minutes, five minutes…
No crying children, no sick people.

Only… an eerie silence.

My heart pounded. I moved closer, pressed against the wall, and peeked through the slightly ajar window.

And the scene that unfolded left me frozen.

The scene

Inside the house, on a small bed, Arjun’s ex-wife—Priya—lay curled up, clutching her stomach, her body trembling. Her face was contorted, frighteningly pale.

And Arjun…

He was sitting by the bed, one hand on her forehead to check her temperature, the other holding a hot water bottle to her stomach.

He spoke very softly, his voice trembling as if comforting her:

— Hang in there, Priya… just a little longer… the doctor said it will be better in a few days…

I froze.

That wasn’t the look of someone caring for a sick child.

It was caring for his wife—caring for a woman with the tenderness that should have belonged to me.

A chill ran down my spine.

I turned and ran away from the window, collapsing onto the side of the house. My breath caught in my throat.

It turned out…
It turned out… all my suspicions were right.

He wasn’t just concerned.

He wasn’t just responsible.

He… still loved his ex-wife.

I covered my face.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed.

Tears fell.

Facing it…

I went home first, and waited. When Arjun opened the door at almost 5 a.m., he was startled to see the lights still on.

I looked him straight in the eyes:

“Are you going there to take care of the child or your wife?”

Arjun froze.

No avoidance. No excuses.

He just let out a long, painful sigh.

“Should I go with you?”

“If I didn’t go, how long were you planning to keep it a secret?”

Arjun sat down opposite me.

His voice lowered:

“Priya has terminal bowel cancer.”

I stopped short.

“She found out two months ago, but… she kept it a secret. She didn’t want to bother you. She didn’t want to affect your new family.”

“Only when the pain became unbearable did she call you. But even then… Priya only asked you to take care of Pari.”

“She didn’t want you to misunderstand. She didn’t want us to argue.”

I was stunned.

“So what about… taking care of the sick child?”

— Pari was really sick. But only the first night. The nights after that… it was Priya who was sick.

— Priya was in so much pain she could barely breathe. I couldn’t leave a mother alone in that dark house.

— And I certainly couldn’t let Pari see her mother suffering.

Arjun looked down at his hands, trembling:

— I was wrong to hide it from you. But I didn’t… cheat. I was just trying to protect a four-year-old child from the trauma of witnessing her mother slowly dying.

I choked up.

Arjun looked up, his eyes red:

— Priya has no family left. Her parents died young. Her grandmother passed away last year. She’s all alone. And I couldn’t let Pari lose both her father and mother at the same time, Meera…

His voice broke at the word “lose.”

A bigger truth.

I tried to stay calm and asked:

— Then why did you take care of her like… like that?

Arjun was silent for a long time.

Then he said:

“There’s something I’ve never dared tell anyone. Not even Priya.”

I looked at him.
He clasped his hands together.

“Pari… isn’t my biological child.”

I froze.

My heart stopped beating.

Arjun continued, his voice choked:

“Priya was raped while working the night shift at the textile factory.”

“When she got pregnant, she was so devastated she wanted to abort the baby.”

“I was just a neighbor then, I knew about it, so I tried to help her.”

“Then we got married—not because of love, but because… I wanted the child to have a decent family to grow up in.”

He looked at me, his eyes full of weariness:

— Later, we divorced because… we weren’t compatible. There was no real love. But I still loved Priya, loved Pari like family.

I leaned my hands on the chair.

All my anger… vanished like smoke.

The whole world seemed to turn upside down. It turned out he left every night…
Not because of his ex-wife.

Not because of his ex-girlfriend.

But because of a child who wasn’t his biological child, yet he treated her like his own flesh and blood.

And because of a woman who had suffered so much pain in her life.

A choice.

I asked him, my voice trembling:

— How much longer does Priya… have?

— The doctor said… about a few weeks. Maybe just a few days.

I sat silently for a long time.

In my mind, the image of Priya curled up, her pale face, appeared vividly.

And then… the image of little Pari, her innocent eyes, her hands clutching a doll, waiting for her father to come home.

Tears fell from my eyes.

Not because of jealousy.

Because of the pain.

I said slowly:

— Tonight… let me go with you.

Arjun looked up, his eyes wide:

— Are you… sure?

I nodded, though my heart was still trembling:

— If she’s about to… leave, then I don’t want her to go alone.

— And Pari… needs someone by her side, while her father is taking care of her mother.

Arjun looked at me for a long time.

Then he burst into tears.

It was the first time I’d seen a strong man break down like that.

The Last Days

We went to Priya’s house together.

I made her a warm cup of tea.

I massaged her back whenever the pain came.

I helped her sit up to take her medicine.

I held little Pari when she cried out of fear.

Priya, in the midst of her pain, mumbled:

— Shukriya… beti.

I held her hand and whispered,

— Aap akele nahi hain.

During those days, I saw Arjun care for Priya with a rare kindness—not romantic love, but humanity, gratitude, and responsibility to the past.

And it was during those days…
I understood that love isn’t just about keeping your man at home.

It’s also about standing alongside the important people in his life.

The End

Priya passed away on a sunny morning.

No more pain, no more trembling.

I held Arjun’s hand as he wept.

I held Pari as she cried out, “Maa!”

After Antim Sanskar, Arjun said to me,

— If you don’t mind… I want to bring Pari home to live with us. I can’t let her grow up orphaned, without both a father and a mother.

I held his hand,

— I don’t mind.

— I love her.

Arjun looked at me, his eyes red and swollen.

“Are you sure? This…is very difficult.”

I smiled, a gentle smile for the first time:

“No matter how difficult…but right…we still have to walk this path, Arjun.”

And so, my family began again—
Not perfect.

Not complete.

But enough humanity to keep going.