Time flew, and before I realized it, the week of Christmas had arrived. Today was Christmas Day, and I’d just returned from church. Ashwin, having picked up bits and pieces about how Christmas is celebrated from TV shows, had decorated our house with lights and ornaments. He’d also prepared dinner and ordered some muffins and chicken lollipops for me—his thoughtful way of making the day special.
We enjoyed our dinner quietly, sharing small smiles, but there was something on my mind that cast a shadow over the festive mood. Ashwin still ignored his father’s calls. No matter how much I tried to encourage him to patch things up, he would change the subject or avoid the conversation altogether.
After dinner, we moved to the sofa. Ashwin stretched out lazily, resting his head in my lap. Stroking his hair, I felt a deep sense of peace, but then he broke the silence.
“Dolly,” he said softly, looking up at me, “can I ask you something? Why do you always introduce yourself as Dolly and not by your real name, Dalia Ferreira?”
I blinked, startled by the question, and then smiled, remembering my school days. “Because back in my village, no one could pronounce my name properly,” I said, wrinkling my nose. “The kids would tease me and call me ‘Dali.’ It drove me mad. So, to save me from all that, my dear uncle decided to give me a new name—Dolly.”
Ashwin chuckled, his laughter rumbling softly as he said, “Well, I think Dalia is a beautiful name.”
I playfully smacked his shoulder. “Oh, shut up. You weren’t the one being teased relentlessly!”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Ashwin laughed harder, but there was something about his expression that shifted—a heaviness creeping into his features. I felt his fingers grip my hand tightly. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “Dolly, I always thought my dad was a good husband, you know? That he and my mom just had their differences and decided to split. But the truth… the truth was a lot more painful.”
I froze for a moment, taken aback by the sudden change in tone. I gently ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his forehead, encouraging him to continue. “What do you mean, Ashu?” I asked softly.
He closed his eyes, as if gathering his courage. “You remember when I was in a terrible mood during your G.A.T.E. preparation? I didn’t tell you the real reason back then. My mom thought I didn’t trust you, and she accused me of spying on you. And… well, she wasn’t wrong. I was keeping an eye on you, but not because I thought you’d cheat on me. I was worried that you were being bullied by someone and didn’t want to tell me, so I tried to figure it out myself.”
His confession startled me. My breath caught, and my hand stilled against his hair. “Ashu,” I said, my voice firm, “I would never think that way. You know that. But… wait a minute.” I frowned, suddenly recalling what he’d said earlier. “Why would your mom think you didn’t trust me? What does that have to do with anything?”
Ashwin hesitated, his eyes darting away. I cupped his face gently, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Ashu,” I repeated, “why did your mom think that way?”
Finally, he sighed and said, “Because Dad thought Mom was having an affair with one of her old classmates.”
“What?” I exclaimed, sitting upright. “Ashwin, what are you saying? Tell me everything.”
Ashwin’s face darkened, his expression a mix of anger and sadness. He began recounting all the events he’d uncovered, each detail making me feel a mix of shock and disgust. I had always thought my in-laws were kind-hearted people, but this new truth painted a different picture—one I wasn’t sure how to process.