Sakshi’s diary lay open on the cold floor, its pages slightly crumpled where it had fallen. The soft rustle of paper filled the silent room as the fan above stirred the air.
Within those pages lived pieces of a life no one had truly seen.
Her pain.
Her silent tortures.
The rare moments of happiness she had tried to hold onto.
Ink had preserved everything she could never say aloud.
The diary showed—
Page 1
Dear diary,
I wanted to share my history with you. You know… my family’s history has always been far too complicated.
My family—the Patel family—adopted a daughter after long years of trying for a baby, and that baby was my mother, Vandana. She was beautiful, sharp, elegant, and intelligent… everything I’m not.
But a few years later, fate blessed the Patel family with their own child—a daughter they named Shalini Patel.
My maternal aunt.
Where my mother was grace, Shalini was fire. They were nothing alike, yet somehow they fit together perfectly. My mother carried elegance in her every step—calm, thoughtful, gentle in the way she spoke. Shalini, on the other hand, was relentless. Reckless. The kind of person whose presence could shift the entire atmosphere of a room.
When she entered, people noticed.
Not because she demanded attention, but because something about her carried a quiet warning—like a storm walking in human form. Conversations would slow, glances would follow, and an unspoken understanding would pass through the room.
Shalini’s arrival rarely meant peace.
It meant change.
Sometimes even destruction.
Yet despite their differences, my mother and Shalini were inseparable. They were not just sisters—they were best friends, bound together by something stronger than blood alone. Wherever one went, the other followed. Their laughter filled the house, their secrets whispered late into the night, their dreams intertwined as if they were meant to walk the same path forever.
And then came the first day of school.
A day that changed everything.
That was the day my mother and Shalini met Abhishree Gupta, the elder daughter of the powerful Gupta family.
No one could have guessed it then, but that simple meeting turned into something extraordinary. The three girls found each other as though fate had quietly planned it all along.
Friendship grew quickly—easy, natural, unbreakable.
Before long, they were known everywhere as one soul divided into three bodies.
Best friends.
As if they had been made for each other.
As the years passed, something began to change within the walls of the Patel household.
My mother noticed it long before anyone else did.
The love that had once surrounded her so naturally had begun to shift—quietly, subtly—toward their own daughter, Shalini. It was never spoken aloud, never openly shown in harsh words, but the difference lived in small things. In the extra attention. In the proud smiles meant only for Shalini. In the silence that followed whenever my mother stood beside her.
She saw it.
But she never said anything.
Perhaps she believed love should never be demanded. Perhaps she feared losing what little of it remained. So she stayed quiet, carrying the truth inside her heart like a weight she had no choice but to bear.
And slowly, with the passing of time, the warmth in her began to fade.
She stopped expecting.
Stopped hoping.
Little by little, she built walls around her emotions until the vibrant girl she once was turned into someone calm, distant… almost emotionless.
Until she met me.
Her hope.
She was twenty-three when she insisted to her adoptive parents that she wanted to adopt a child. At first, they dismissed the idea as nothing more than a passing thought. But my mother did not give up. She pleaded with them again and again, her quiet determination stronger than any refusal they offered.
After countless requests and persistent persuasion, they finally agreed.
And that was how I entered her life.
I was adopted.
When she held me for the first time, she looked at me for a long moment, as if searching for something she had lost years ago. Then she gave me a name.
Sakshi.
It means witness.
Because, as she softly said that day, I would be the witness to her happiness.
As I grew up, the Patel house slowly became my world.
Somehow, without even realizing it, I became everyone’s favorite.
The Patels… despite the distance they had always kept with my mother, never treated me the same way. With me, they were different. Softer. Kinder. They cared for me in ways they had never cared for her. Perhaps I filled a space in their hearts they hadn’t known was empty, or perhaps I was simply too small, too innocent to ignore.
Whatever the reason was, they loved me.
Shalini Masi adored me the most. Where the world saw her as relentless and reckless, I only saw the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. She would laugh loudly at my smallest acts of mischief, proudly calling me her little partner in crime. If I did something notorious, she would clap instead of scolding me, as if my rebellion amused her more than anything else.
Abhishree Masi, on the other hand, loved my cheerfulness. She would often pull me into her arms, shaking her head with a smile whenever I ran around the house with endless energy. To her, I was the little burst of sunlight in the room—the child whose laughter could chase away even the heaviest silence.
And then there was my mother.
Vandana.
For her, I was not just a child she had adopted. I was her entire world. Her quiet joy. The one thing that brought warmth back into a heart that had once learned how to live without expecting happiness.
When she looked at me, her eyes held something gentle and unguarded. Something she never showed anyone else.
Because in her life, filled with silent disappointments and unspoken loneliness…
I was her only sight of happiness.
Soon enough, life began moving forward in ways none of them had expected.
One day, my Shalini Masi met someone who could match her fire. His name was Shravan Swaraj—a medical student with sharp eyes, a fearless smile, and the soul of a biker who lived for the open road. He carried the quiet confidence of someone who had seen life from many angles, and yet there was something wild in him that refused to be tamed.
Perhaps that was why Shalini noticed him.
Or perhaps it was fate playing its silent game again.
Wherever he rode his bike, the sound of the engine seemed to announce his presence long before he appeared. And when he walked into a room, there was an ease about him, a calm strength that balanced Shalini’s storm-like nature in a way no one else ever had.
For the first time, the girl who made rooms freeze found someone who could stand beside her without stepping back.
And while Shalini’s life slowly intertwined with Shravan’s, my mother began building something of her own.
Vandana opened a small boutique.
It wasn’t grand at first—just a modest space filled with fabrics, sketches, and the quiet determination she carried within her. But to her, it meant freedom. It meant creating something that belonged to her alone.
Day by day, she poured her creativity into the boutique, stitching dreams into cloth, shaping colors into designs that slowly began to catch people’s attention.
For the first time in years, she was not just someone’s daughter…
not someone’s sister…
She was Vandana, a woman building her own identity.
Years passed quietly, and life continued to unfold in ways none of us had imagined before.
By the time I started going to college, the small boutique my mother had once opened with trembling hope had grown into something much bigger. What had begun as a modest shop filled with fabrics and sketches had slowly transformed into a thriving business. Her designs were now known beyond the local markets, her work admired by people who had never even met her.
My mother was no longer just Vandana.
She had become Vandana Patel—the businesswoman.
Strong. Independent. Respected.
And it was through that world of business that she met my father.
Anubhav Chauhan.
In the corporate world, his name carried weight. People spoke of him in careful tones, some with admiration, others with quiet fear. He was known as a ruthless businessman, a man who never hesitated when it came to winning deals or crushing competition. Many even called him the Devil King of business, a title earned through his sharp mind and merciless strategies.
But the man the world feared was not the man my mother saw.
Because somewhere along the way, that ruthless businessman—so used to controlling everything around him—had fallen hopelessly in love with her.
And life continued to move forward, weaving new stories into the lives of those around me.
Ridhima Gupta, my choti masi, soon married the love of her life—Kunal Raj Avasthi. Their wedding was filled with laughter, warmth, and the kind of happiness that made everyone believe in forever. Watching them together felt like witnessing a promise that life could still be gentle, that love could still be simple.
Months passed after that, and for a while, everything seemed perfect.
Life was going well.
My college days had begun, my mother’s business was flourishing, and the house that once carried so many complicated emotions now felt lighter, warmer, almost peaceful.
And then… Vidhwan Sinha entered my life.
He was invited to my college as a chief guest—an influential businessman whose achievements had already made him a known name in the corporate world. When he walked onto the stage, he carried the kind of confidence that drew attention without effort. People listened when he spoke, admired the success he represented.
That was the day we met.
A simple introduction.
A brief conversation.
And somehow, slowly, we grew closer.
What started as admiration turned into something deeper. I believed in his words, in the way he spoke to me, in the promises hidden within his quiet smiles.
I thought we had fallen for each other.
But back then…
I didn’t know the truth.
I didn’t know that his real love had never been me.
It had always been his money.
Some months later, my mother’s life was ready to turn a new page.
She was going to marry Anubhav Chauhan.
For the first time in years, I saw a different kind of happiness in her eyes—something soft, something peaceful, as if life had finally decided to be kind to her. The woman who had spent so long building herself from silence and disappointment was finally allowing herself to believe in love again.
But while her world was slowly finding light… mine was quietly being pulled into darkness.
Around the same time, Vidhwan began to change the way he spoke to me. At first, it was subtle—small suggestions, quiet doubts planted in my mind. He spoke as if he understood me better than anyone else, as if he was the only one truly on my side.
And slowly, without realizing it, I began to believe him.
His words wrapped around my thoughts like a trap I couldn’t see.
Because of him, I started fighting with my mother—Vandana, the woman who had given me everything. The arguments that once seemed impossible between us suddenly became frequent. Words I never imagined saying slipped out of my mouth, sharp and careless.
I began lying to her.
Small lies at first. Then bigger ones.
The trust that had once been unbreakable between us slowly began to crack. And day by day, I found myself drifting further away from the one person who had always been my greatest strength.
I started disobeying her.
And at that time…
I didn’t even realize that every step I was taking was leading me exactly where Vidhwan wanted me to go.
year passed after my mother married Anubhav.
For the first time in a long while, her life seemed truly complete. The house felt warmer, laughter returned to the rooms, and the quiet loneliness that once lived in her eyes slowly faded away.
And then came the news that filled her with a happiness I had never seen before.
My mother was pregnant.
She was glowing with joy, walking through the house with a lightness in her steps as if the world itself had finally chosen to reward her patience. She would often rest her hand gently over her stomach, smiling to herself, whispering dreams for the child who had not yet arrived.
But into that happiness…
I brought darkness.
Like an eclipse covering the sun.
By then, Vidhwan’s influence over me had grown stronger. His words had become the voice I trusted more than my own thoughts. He slowly began planting fears inside me—whispers that sounded believable when spoken softly enough.
He told me that once the baby arrived, my mother would forget about me.
That her love would belong to her own child.
That I would no longer matter.
And foolishly… I believed him.
One night, he asked me to do something I should never have agreed to.
“Just damage the car,” he had said casually. “Anubhav won’t be able to use it tomorrow. That’s all.”
It sounded simple. Harmless.
And so I did it.
That night, in the quiet darkness, I went to the garage and deliberately tampered with Anubhav’s car, my hands trembling as I forced myself to finish what Vidhwan had asked.
Later, as I stepped back into the house, I heard something that made my heart stop.
My mother was crying.
When I looked into the room, I saw her holding Anubhav tightly, tears streaming down her face as fear and worry filled her voice. She had no idea what had happened to the car, only that something had gone terribly wrong.
Anubhav laid there lifeless, covered in white sheets.
And I stood there silently, watching from the shadows.
She didn’t know.
She didn’t know that the child she had once called her hope…
Was the very one slowly taking her happiness away.
I made my mother a widow.
That truth stayed buried inside me, but its weight never left.
From that day on, every time my mother asked me to stay away from Vidhwan, I refused to listen. Her voice carried worry, fear, and a desperate attempt to protect me—but I could never see it that way.
Instead, I shouted at her.
I accused her of trying to take away my happiness. I convinced myself that she simply didn’t want me to be with the man I loved.
And each time she pleaded, each time she tried to warn me, my anger only grew stronger.
Then one day… the argument went too far.
My words crossed a line that should never have been crossed.
In a moment of blind rage, I shouted at her, saying I wished that the unborn child in her womb would also be taken away from her.
The moment those words left my mouth, the silence in the room turned heavy.
Before I could react, her hand rose and struck my cheek.
The slap echoed through the room.
For a moment, we both stood frozen—her eyes filled with pain, mine burning with wounded pride.
Without another word, she turned and walked away.
But instead of realizing my mistake, my ego grew stronger.
Months of Vidhwan’s manipulation had already twisted my thoughts, filling my mind with resentment and anger. And that day, those feelings reached their darkest point.
Later that evening, I did something that still haunts every breath I take.
I went to the kitchen and prepared my mother’s favorite meal.
Carefully. Quietly.
When I brought the food to her, she looked surprised at first. Then slowly… her face softened.
For the first time in years, she believed her daughter had come back to her. Her hope had finally returned.
She smiled through her tired eyes as she ate the food happily, thinking that the distance between us had finally ended.
She had no idea what had been mixed into it.
I had mixed poison into her food, not strong, but enough to kill her child.
That day, she went to the doctor for a routine checkup.
It was supposed to be an ordinary visit—just another appointment to make sure everything was fine, to hear the small, steady heartbeat of the life growing inside her. She had walked into the hospital with quiet excitement, carrying the gentle hope that had kept her smiling for months.
But fate had already changed its course.
When the doctor finished examining the reports, the expression on his face grew heavy. The room fell into a strange, suffocating silence before he finally spoke the words no mother should ever have to hear.
Her unborn child…
Her unborn daughter…
Was no more.
The life she had been protecting, dreaming about, whispering to in quiet moments—gone before it had even begun.
And the cruelest truth of all…
It was because of me.
The food she had eaten with such happiness, believing that her daughter had finally returned to her… had carried the poison that ended the life inside her.
From that day onward, something inside my mother broke.
Not loudly.
Not violently.
Just… quietly.
The warmth that once lived in her eyes disappeared. The woman who used to smile softly, who once found happiness even in the smallest moments, slowly faded away.
She stopped crying.
Stopped arguing.
Stopped hoping.
From that day…
Vandana became emotionless.
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