Middle class (alternative ending )

Dhriti's POV

After Vedharth left, for the first time in what felt like ages, a deep and calming silence settled within me. It wasn’t the kind of silence that felt empty or lonely—it was peaceful, liberating. That night, I slept without tossing and turning, without waking up in the middle of the night with a heavy chest or tear-soaked pillow. I slept deeply, like a child wrapped in a warm blanket of safety and stillness. And when I woke up, it was to the soft glow of morning—not to anyone’s shouting or constant demands—but to a quiet home and the freedom to rise when I wanted.
For once, I didn’t have to rush. I didn’t have to think about someone else’s preferences, or adjust my own comfort to please another. I walked into the kitchen and cooked something just for me—my favorite dish. I can’t remember the last time I did that. The spices danced in the air, and the familiar smell wrapped around me like a warm hug from the past. Each bite reminded me of who I was before everything—before the exhaustion, before the compromises, before I forgot how to choose myself.
And then, there was this. This joy quietly blooming in my heart, like a secret too precious to speak of out loud—I was pregnant. Again. The moment I saw those two lines, my hands trembled, not with fear, but with a strange mix of disbelief and happiness. I placed a hand gently on my stomach, as if to protect this tiny new life growing inside me. It felt like hope had returned to me in the form of a heartbeat I couldn’t yet hear.
I smiled—genuinely smiled. Not out of politeness, not to hide pain, but out of pure happiness. For the first time in years, I felt free and alive.
But amid all that warmth and light, one worry still tugged at me—how would I survive? I knew I had to start earning, not just for myself now, but for the life I was carrying within me. That thought brought a different kind of determination. I had been broken, yes, but not destroyed. I had lived in the shadow of someone else's world for too long—now, it was time to build my own .

Two days later, something unexpected and heartwarming happened—my childhood friend, Anaya, came to visit me in the village. I hadn’t seen her in years. The moment I opened the door and saw her standing there with that same wide smile and glowing energy, it felt like a small piece of my old self returned. We hugged tightly, the kind of hug that says “I missed you” and “I’m so glad you’re still you” without needing words.
Anaya looked radiant—she always had that spark in her, but now it was different. She was calm, glowing, grounded. She told me she was married now, to a foreigner she met during her college internship, and they were living a beautiful life together abroad. There was no show-off in her tone, just genuine contentment. I was happy for her. Genuinely. And yet, as I listened to her stories of quiet dinners, beach walks, and mutual respect, a small part of me couldn’t help but ache. Not out of jealousy—but from remembering what I never had.
As we sat on the old verandah sipping tea and catching up on lost years, I opened up to her—told her everything. About Vedharth, the suffocation, the loneliness that became routine, and finally the freedom I had found in letting go. I also told her the one thing still lingering on my mind—that I needed to earn my living now. I didn’t want to depend on anyone, not even temporarily. I wanted to build something of my own, no matter how small.
Anaya listened with the patience of someone who genuinely cared. Then, with that familiar spark in her eyes, she said, “You know what? This might sound random, but my elder brother-in-law is actually looking for a babysitter for his twins. His wife passed away a year ago, and he’s been managing everything alone. They live in the Canada. The kids are adorable but quite a handful—he needs someone trustworthy, gentle, and warm. Someone like you.”
I stared at her, unsure how to respond. A part of me felt hopeful, another part hesitant. “Do you really think I could…?” I started to ask, but she cut me off gently.
“Yes, Dhriti. You can. And I’ll help with everything—your documents, dealing with the divorce formalities, setting things up in the Canada. You’re not alone anymore.”
For the first time in a very long time, someone was not just offering help—they were standing with me. A friend who wasn’t just passing by, but ready to walk a few steps of this journey with me.
At that moment, the road ahead didn’t feel so frightening. Maybe, just maybe, things were beginning to fall into place.