Page 46 of Cherish my Heart
Not for him.
Not for his kindness or his hard truths.
But for myself.
Because my career has to be mine and mine alone.
I’ve spent too many years watching my mother become a shadow of herself. Once upon a time, in my childhood, she was the most driven woman I knew—built a company from scratch, ran it with brilliance. And then my father happened.
It didn’t happen all at once. First, it was the jokes about who was the “man of the house.” Then, the anger when she came home late. The guilt trips. The manipulations dressed as love. Until one day, she handed him her company and walked away from the one thing that made her come alive.
I remember the sound of that moment—not a scream, not a fight—but the quiet resignation in her sigh. As if something inside her had gone still forever.
My father died two years later from some heart condition no one saw coming. And everyone grieved. Except me.
As a father, he was... okay. He gave me books, helped with school, and tried his best in his own flawed way. But as a husband? He broke my mother. And I can never forgive him for that.
I don’t say this out loud. Not to Radha. Not to Abhimaan. Not to Aarav. Maybe not even to myself completely.
But I carry it.
I carry the guilt too—of not missing him like I should. Of feeling relieved when the shouting stopped. Of watching my mother shrink into a quieter, more acceptable version of herself.
I won’t be her. I can’t.
So, no matter what I felt when I heard what Abhimaan did, no matter what flicker stirred in my chest—I won’t let this become about a man.
Not again.
Not ever.
Back at my desk, I open my laptop and begin to type. My fingers are steady, but my heart is a mess. Because some part of me knows—this isn’t over. And not everything you bury stays buried.
CHAPTER 25
ABHIMAAN
I hear her laugh.
It’s soft. Not the kind that fills a room or makes heads turn, but I still hear it through the slightly open glass door, slipping through the cracks like sunlight through blinds. And I hate how my hands pause on the keyboard.
Just for a second.
Like muscle memory from another time—when she used to challenge me, mock me, and call me names behind a smile she never tried to hide. Now, she doesn’t. Now, she sits in meetings, nods, takes notes, and follows every word like gospel. No resistance. No sarcasm. No life. Exactly what I wanted once. But I do not now.
It’s actually very infuriating. Not because she’s finally acting like a professional. That’s what I thought I wanted. That’s what I said I wanted. But this… this robotic obedience? This silent tension in every room we’re in together? This isn’t her. And somewhere between my control and her rebellion, I lost something I didn’t even know I was holding onto.
I shut the laptop and rise from my chair, the laughter growing louder the closer I get to the door. When I step outside, I find the source.
Harsh is leaning on her table, grinning like he always does when he knows he’s saying something annoying. She’s looking at him, face bright, eyes shining like they never do when she looks at me anymore. Her arm is folded across her stomach like she’s trying to keep herself from laughing too much. But she does—anyway. Freely. Easily.
I want to punch him.
Harsh’s head snaps toward me like a bloodhound sensing movement. “Abhimaan!” he exclaims with that shit-eating grin he’s had since we were twelve. “Ms. Aditi here was just telling me how much she’s loving your embarrassing childhood stories.”
He waggles his eyebrows like a teenage girl, and I swear my jaw clenches so hard it makes my neck ache.
I look at her.
