Sakshi stood motionless, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular, as though the world around her had slowly faded into silence.
Rutvik…
Her son had not survived the illness. How could he have? His small heart had carried burdens no child should ever know. Night after night, he had watched his father return home with different women, the laughter echoing through the halls like a cruel reminder that he was never the center of that man’s world. The tension in the house, the cold distance, the quiet loneliness—it had been too much for a mind so young to understand.
The disease had only taken what life had already begun to break.
Slowly, Sakshi turned and stepped into the room. Her movements were calm, almost mechanical, as if she were following a path already decided. She walked toward the dressing table and opened the drawer with steady hands.
From inside, she took out a small bottle of poison.
Without hesitation, she opened it and lifted it to her lips, drinking the liquid inside in one long swallow. The room remained silent except for the faint sound of the bottle being set back on the table.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then a few minutes later, her body began to weaken. Her legs trembled beneath her, unable to hold her weight any longer.
With a dull thud, Sakshi collapsed onto the floor.
White foam slowly gathered at the corner of her mouth, wet and trembling as it slipped onto the cold ground, while the room stood as a quiet witness to the final choice she had made.
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