The Unwanted Child

Love? No, it was not love.

Her eyes—at first, I thought they held love. But no, they did not. They burned like fire. A blue flame, scorching and fierce. She was looking at me, but not with kindness. Her gaze held something cruel, something terrifying, as if she wanted me gone.

Dead? Why would she want me dead? I was her child.

Or was I?

I am a girl. My father always said that, as if it was a curse. But is there really a difference between boys and girls? Before I could think further, I heard something—a whisper, a movement. A shadow in the dimly lit hospital room.

I turned.

My mother.

She was coming toward me, her hands trembling. She picked me up, holding me close, but something was wrong. Her arms were warm, but her eyes… they were cold.

Then I saw him.

My father. He stood near the door, watching us. His face was unreadable, but his voice was sharp.

“What do you think now? What are you going to do?”

For a moment, I thought he was talking to me. But no—his piercing gaze was fixed on my mother.

She hesitated, then whispered, “We don’t need her.”

My breath caught.

“She must disappear. The family cannot know she was born. If they do, our business, our properties, our power—everything will be at risk.”

She wasn’t looking at me. She was looking through me. As if I were nothing. As if I had never existed.

“Your brother’s wife is also pregnant,” she continued. “She’s carrying a boy. If we keep this girl, everything will go to them instead.”

Her voice was urgent, desperate. She turned to my father. “Do something. We need a son.”

The doctor standing nearby remained silent, his face pale. My mother’s next words were a command.

“Bring a boy. We will introduce him as our child.”

I did not cry.

Even when my mother’s voice sealed my fate, even when they planned my disappearance as if I were nothing more than a mistake—still, I did not cry.

Then my father picked me up.

His hands were cold. His grip was firm.

I wanted to scream, but no sound left my lips.

We left the hospital in silence. He placed me in the car, and we drove into the night. The road was empty. The air was thick with something unspoken, something heavy. I looked at him, searching for answers, but his face remained expressionless.

At last, the car stopped.

A lake.

The water stretched out before us, dark and endless. My father stepped out, carrying me in his arms. He looked down at me, and for the first time, he spoke.

"Your mother wanted you dead. Even I wanted you dead."

His grip tightened.

"But your blood… you carry the Singhania name. And that is the only reason you are still here."

He sighed, almost as if it pained him to admit it.

"If you had been born a boy, everything—our business, our properties, our power—would have been yours. But you are a girl."

His voice hardened.

"And that… is your fault."

MY FAULT ..........❄❄❄❄❄❄

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