Today was the day of truth—the day everyone of them had been waiting for.

The day that would end months of anxiety, tension, guilt, and unspoken fears.

The day Navya would finally be freed from half of her responsibility and the suffocating terms of the contract.
The day Advait would finally receive what he longed for in the quietest corners of his heart—his blood, his heirs.
And the day Aditi had prayed for, cried for, and begged for, the same way she had once begged him to say yes to surrogacy.

The day she wished with her entire soul, she could have been the one in that labour room... giving birth to the tiny pieces of Advait she dreamed of holding.
But she couldn't.
Her medical condition had stolen that right from her.
Her weak uterus and eggs had betrayed her.

And that pain—unseen, unheard, unfelt by the world—burned her slowly.

That is why they had chosen Navya.
To make Aditi's dream possible.
To complete their family.

Yet today... Aditi felt nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

She sat beside Advait in the waiting area, a luxury magazine open in her lap, her expression a blank canvas—devoid of fear, joy, or anticipation. Her eyes scanned the pages, but not a single word entered her mind.

Across from her, Advait sat stiffly in the plastic hospital chair, staring at his phone but clearly unable to focus on anything.

His legs bounced, fingers tapping restlessly. He looked up every few seconds toward the labour room door—as if waiting for someone to call his name.

Behind that door, chaos echoed.

Navya had been in labour for four agonising hours, her screams slicing through the corridor now and then. Her voice cracked, breathless, begging for relief she wouldn't get yet. The nurses rushed in and out, preparing for what the doctor said would be a long delivery.

They needed her body to be more ready, they had said.
They needed her strength.
They needed time.

So Navya screamed, cried, clutched the rails, and writhed in agony.
But time moved slowly.

The doctor finally arrived, adjusting her mask, her eyes warm as she greeted Advait and Aditi.

"Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Advait. We're ready to proceed."

Aditi nodded politely. Advait stood instinctively, but the doctor raised a hand to stop him.

"We'll update you as soon as we can."

And then she disappeared past the door.

A second later—

The red light above the labour room turned on.

Delivery had begun.

___________________

Advait couldn't tear his eyes away from the labour room door.

His jaw was tight, his fingers clenched and unclenched against his thighs, and every few seconds he exhaled sharply—as if trying to release a fear that only grew heavier inside him.

A fear he had been carrying for two weeks.

Ever since one of his business partners—a man as powerful and merciless as him—had lost his perfectly healthy baby during delivery.
A single complication.
A few minutes of oxygen deprivation.
And the child never opened its eyes.

That incident had shaken Advait in ways he never admitted aloud.

Not because he was sentimental.
Not because he was soft-hearted.
But because he knew—deep in his bones—that he would not survive losing his own children.

The children who had turned his life upside down even before they were born.

The children for whom he had divorced the woman he loved...
For whom he had taken reckless, unforgivable steps—like marrying his surrogate just to secure legal papers...
For whom he had endured misunderstandings, cold nights, and silent arguments with Aditi...
For whom he had accepted an invisible distance growing between them, a distance neither of them ever wanted, but both quietly suffered through.

He had paid in ways he never expected.
Emotionally.
Psychologically.
Even morally.

And still... he loved them.

He loved those unborn babies more intensely than he ever imagined possible. Ever since the first ultrasound, when the blurry outline of two tiny forms appeared on the screen—his heart had betrayed him. He had fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love.

Now, the thought of losing them made the cold, ruthless businessman tremble—

literally tremble.

He wasn't afraid for Navya.
Not even for a moment.

He was afraid for them.

His children.

His future.

His blood.

Meanwhile, Aditi sat exactly beside him.

But she might as well have been miles away.

Her posture was straight, elegant, and composed—just like any CEO sitting in a board meeting. A glossy magazine rested open on her lap, her eyes scanning the pages as if she were studying them deeply.

But she wasn't reading.

Not even a single word.

Her mind had shut itself off, locked away behind an emotionless mask she had perfected over the past months. On the surface, she looked calm, indifferent, unaffected... but her stillness was too perfect, too controlled, too silent.

She didn't look at the red light.
She didn't look at the door.
She didn't look at Advait.

As if she refused to be part of this moment—because this moment didn't belong to her.

She reminded herself again and again:

She was not the one giving birth.
She was not the one bringing Advait's heirs into the world.
She was not the one inside that room.

Navya was.

And Aditi's heart—already fragile, already bruised—had quietly stepped aside, letting numbness take over. Because anything else... any other feeling... would break her.

So she drowned herself in silence.

While Advait drowned in fear.

Both are sitting side by side.

Yet so painfully far apart.

Suddenly, the labour room door swung open.

A nurse stepped out, her gloves stained faintly with antiseptic, her voice urgent yet polite.
"The doctor is asking for the patient's husband to come inside."

Advait froze.

For a split second, his usually razor-sharp mind went blank.
Husband? Whose husband?
The word felt foreign—almost laughably misplaced.

Because never, not even for a single heartbeat, had he considered Navya his wife.
Never had he thought of himself as her husband.
Not in his mind.
Not in his heart.
Not even in the fake, contractual sense.

He stood there stiffly, as if someone had thrown icy water over him.

It wasn't until Aditi's soft but steady voice cut through his thoughts that he remembered where he was.

"Advait, what are you thinking? Go inside."

He blinked, as if snapping back into reality.

Right.
Of course.
For the rest of the world—for the nurses, the hospital staff, the damn government paperwork—he was Navya's husband.

Even if the truth was far more complicated.

He turned towards Aditi, hesitation clear in his eyes. There was something vulnerable in the way he looked at her—like he needed her approval, like he didn't want to step inside without knowing she was okay.

She gave him a small, faint smile.
A smile that didn't reach her eyes, but still held enough strength to push him forward.

"You sure?" he whispered, half-asking, half-hoping.

But the nurse cut him short, her tone polite but urgent.

"Sir, please be quick. Doctor needs the husband inside immediately."
Her eyes held no idea of whose husband he truly was—or wasn't.

And she disappeared back inside.

Advait looked at Aditi one last time.

And she nodded again, this time with a softer expression—forcing calmness over her breaking heart.

He exhaled slowly, returned a warm smile, and followed the nurse inside.

Inside the Changing Room

The nurse guided him into a small, sterile room connected to the OT. She handed him a neatly folded set of medical scrubs—light blue disposable fabric, a cap, gloves, a suit, and a mask.

He changed mechanically, but inside...

Inside, he felt strangely at peace.

Not because he wanted to be inside with Navya.
Not because he cared for her in the way a husband should.

But because Aditi had nodded.
Because she had let him go.

For days, he had seen her drowning in insecurities—silent, painful ones she tried so hard to hide.

And he had tried everything his clumsy, intense heart knew to remind her she was the only woman he belonged to.

Now, seeing her give him that small nod...
That faint smile...

It reassured him.
It soothed him.
It made him believe she trusted him again.

He felt relieved, even grateful.

Because Aditi believed him.

Because she wasn't afraid he would leave her.

Because she didn't think he would cross any lines with the woman in labour.

He adjusted the mask, tightened his gloves, and pressed a palm over his racing heart.

He didn't want to enter that room as someone's husband.
He didn't want to be near another woman like this—especially in her most vulnerable moment.

But today...
For the world...
For the paperwork...
For the sake of two beating hearts fighting their way into existence...

He had responsibilities to act.

Even if it was all just a show.

Even if every part of him knew—

He belonged only to Aditi.
And he always would.

But what Advait failed to notice—what he could never truly understand—was the storm raging inside Aditi.

The Aditi sitting outside the labour room was not the girl she once used to be.
For the world, she had always been the cold, decisive CEO—unbending, immaculate, untouchable.
But for her family, for Advait... she had always been their softest heartbeat, their gentle home.

That softness had once saved her.
Now it only threatened to destroy her.

She had learned one brutal lesson from her childhood heartbreak—one she hadn't understood back then, but felt sinking into her bones now:

Never allow someone the power to break you.
Not again.
Not ever.

And this time, she wasn't willing to shatter.
Not for anyone.
Not even for the woman who was delivering her children.

As the months passed, Aditi had quietly withdrawn from everyone—her friends, her employees, even from Advait when the insecurity became unbearable. She was functioning more like a ghost than a human. A ghost with responsibilities, with deadlines, with a face mask of calm professionalism.

But inside... she was quietly, precisely planning her next moves.

Three more months.
Three more months and she would make sure Navya was out of their lives forever.

There wouldn't be a single chance for the surrogate to linger around, to interfere, to accidentally create lines that should never exist. Aditi had already decided:

Navya would be transferred to the foreign branch in another country—far from this city, far from this home, far from her children.

No accidental meetings.
No confusing emotions.
No mistaken attachments.

The babies would only see Navya when absolutely necessary during feeding. After that, Aditi would ensure they had no memory, no imprint, no trace of another woman in their lives.

Aditi would be their only mother.
The only one they would recognise.
The only one they would run to with open arms.

Somewhere deep inside her, a small, gentle voice—the old Aditi—kept whispering that she was being unfair, overly harsh, maybe even cruel.

But the new Aditi, the one forged from insecurity, heartbreak, and fear, suffocated that voice ruthlessly.

This girl is not your friend. She is not doing charity.
She is getting paid—handsomely.
She is receiving a house, a secure future, a lifelong job, and money no other surrogate would ever dream of.

This is a business transaction.
Nothing else.

There was no need for kindness.
No need for emotional attachment.
No need to soften her heart again.

Because soft hearts break too easily.

Aditi's eyes drifted toward the glowing red light above the labour room, her fingers tightening around the magazine she pretended to read.

She just wanted this delivery to be over.
She wanted to leave this hospital—this suffocating place filled with antiseptic, blood, echoes of pain, and a woman she couldn't bear to look at anymore.

She wanted her babies.
Her family.
Her peace.

What she didn't realise was that jealousy wasn't her only enemy anymore.

A darker version of Aditi had been born—quiet, fierce, protective to the point of ruthlessness.

And she had no intention of ever losing anything again.

Not her husband.
Not her heart.
Not her family.
Not her children.

Not this time.