The Wrong Woman

23. Dhruv

Anish was right about one thing.

I didn't need to just look after Rani. Even if being a chef again wasn't really an option for me, it didn't mean I had to sit around doing nothing.

And considering a divorce from Rani's side was only a matter of time, I'd need to get a job, anyway. The house...well, we'd deal with that part of things when it came to it. If she wanted it, go crazy. I didn't care at this point.

Job hunting, I thought. How long has it been since I've done that? I was a househusband for so long—and so sure it was what I was going to be for a long time—that it kind of felt odd being out here, putting myself out there. After seeing that Rani was in a deep sleep, it was the perfect time for me to take a breather and manage my thoughts. I sat on a wooden bench nearby a park with little kids and older kids alike, squealing and laughing with parents standing idly by.

I scrolled through job ads online, but none of it caught my eye. Eventually, boredom settled in and my eyes found the gallery icon—one I dreaded even glancing at since things were getting worse between me and Rani. My thumb found the icon and clicked without a moment's hesitation. Down a rabbit hole, I thought bitterly, but I couldn't bring myself to stop.

Pictures of us throughout the years in squares. Scrolling through it, my thumb nearly cramped. There were so many. And we were so happy in every single one of them. The last photo had been a year ago in March, around my birthday.

We had gone to a ski resort in California; we were on the steel lift, watching the scenic view of the snowy mountains. She had sat on my lap—against the rules but neither of us gave a crap—and taken out her phone. Both of us grinned at the camera like we were eighteen again, on our first date.

Another photo of us posing like idiots in front of a fountain made of ice and another at a cafe, making fish faces.

God. I didn't even remember being that happy anymore. Where were the Rani and Dhruv from those photos? We were just shells of those people now. A quick spurt of fury flashed through me and I pressed down on the first photo, selecting all the other ones. My finger hovered over the delete button, but I honestly couldn't will myself to get rid of it. God knew I wanted to. As much as I tried with her, it was obvious there was nothing left for us anymore. So why did having the photos matter?

But it did because I was a desperate piece of garbage apparently.

The phone in my hand vibrated then and I was slightly grateful for the temporary distraction. Slightly grateful but slightly grated as well, because I fully thought it was Anish calling to ask me about going back to work with him again.

Except it wasn't him.

It was my dad.

"Hey, pops," I said, enthusiastically. He didn't know anything that was going on with Rani. Neither did mom. And I wanted it to stay that way. I didn't want them to worry and think worse about Rani than they already did. "Why the sudden call?"

"What, can't I call my favourite son?"

"You're a walking cliche," I said with a soft chuckle, knowing full well I didn't feel the laugh I was expelling.

"What do you mean?" asked my dad with a fake innocent voice.

"I'm your only son. That's the line you were waiting for, you old coot."

His hearty laugh boomed through my ears. "Glad to hear that you're still the same. Uh, how's Rani?" he added in a whisper. Unlike my mom who outwardly showed her distaste for Rani, my dad tried to play the mediator for the both of them when my mom wasn't around. I guessed this was one of those moments.

"She's...yeah, she's doing great. We're both doing great." I grimaced. It sounded fake to me so I couldn't imagine how it sounded to my dad.

He blew out a sigh of relief, luckily. "That's good to hear. When are you coming to visit us?"

"That's not a good idea," I said flatly. "Visiting's never turned out well."

"It's been two years. We just want to see the both of you."

I rubbed my forehead. The timing of all of this...incredible. "Rani's been really busy lately," I said. "The only time I see her is before she goes to work. It's chaos getting to see her and force some food into her."

"You, my boy, are hen picked," said my dad, chuckling, the sound rumbling in my ear. "But hey, that's the way to go when you're married."

"I learnt from the best, after all."

"I am the best, aren't I?"

"Don't let mom hear that or my ear will be eaten off for feeding your ego."

"Hey, Dhruv?" he said after a little while.

"Yeah, dad?"

"You are doing well, aren't you?"

"I told you. I'm doing great. Being a househusband has its perks, you know."

"Well, good. You don't need to come home if you don't want to but just think about it, okay?"

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. Hell, what could I say to that when things were so crazy back here? After saying our goodbyes and hanging up, the smile on my face faded. My hand holding the phone dropped in between my spread legs. I hung my head. To be a chef, to make my wife happy. To be a true family in love, like how my dad and mom were. Those were the only things I wanted in my life.

Things had gotten so bad I didn't even know how to fix it. None of what I did were doing anything except making her issues about me worse. The last fight that led to this involved a lot of words that neither of us meant.

At least, not on my part. But apparently, it was serious for her. Things that she had been holding back in her heart for a long while.

'You hover and care so much that I feel like I can't breathe.'

'I feel trapped. Being with you is boring and annoying and I'm sick of it!'

Those were just insults I dismissed as words said in anger; insults and tiffs every married couple had. But the one that hit me the worst was: 'You're not the Dhruv I fell in love with.'

I repeated those words in my head, my knee bopping up and down. What did that mean? I thought, annoyed with myself and at her. I tipped my head back and groaned out loud, ignoring the looks that passersby shot me. It doesn't make sense. This was the Dhruv I'd always been around her. I'd never made a show of lying because I wanted her to know what she was getting into when a relationship was on the cards so she knew me. I thought she accepted that.

Maybe there was a limit to everything.

Now that things had gotten to this, it was only a matter of time before my parents questioned it. They would only bear the brunt of it, wondering how hurt I was feeling; I couldn't let them know what was going on. It wasn't fair of me to do that.

If only things were easy.