PART 2.
Maya swallowed painfully.
Then slowly reached toward the small drawer beside her hospital bed.
Her fingers trembled so badly that I immediately leaned forward to help her.
Inside the drawer sat a thick brown medical envelope.
Old.
Worn at the edges.
Clearly opened and closed many times.
“Maya…” I whispered uneasily.
She didn’t answer right away.
Instead, she stared at the envelope with an expression I had never seen before.
Fear.
Not fear of illness.
Not fear of death.
Fear of truth.
Finally, in a weak voice, she said:
“Please read the last page first.”
My hands felt strangely numb as I opened the envelope.
Medical reports.
Bloodwork.
Ultrasound scans.
Specialist notes written in Hungarian.
Then I reached the final document.
And the moment I understood what I was reading…
My entire body went cold.
“No…” I whispered.
Maya closed her eyes slowly.
I kept reading, desperately hoping I had misunderstood.
But the words remained there.
Clear.
Cruel.
Unavoidable.
The report stated that Maya’s miscarriages had likely been caused by prolonged exposure to a harmful medication hidden inside supplements she had been consuming for years.
My breathing became shallow.
“What is this?”
My voice barely sounded human anymore.
Maya looked away.
“I found out after the second miscarriage.”
I stared at her in disbelief.
“What do you mean you found out?”
Tears filled her exhausted eyes.
“The vitamins your mother used to give me…”
For a second, I genuinely stopped breathing.
“My mother?” I said hoarsely.
Maya nodded faintly.
“She always insisted they would help me get stronger… help me carry a baby safely…”
The room tilted around me.
“No.”
“She gave them to me almost every day.”
I shook my head violently.
“That’s impossible.”
But deep down…
Something ugly had already begun rising inside me.
Because suddenly memories I had buried long ago began returning.
My mother constantly criticizing Maya’s cooking.
Her comments about Maya being “too weak” to become a proper mother.
The cold silence between them whenever I left the room.
And worst of all…
The day after Maya’s second miscarriage.
I remembered finding my mother standing alone in our kitchen.
Smiling.
At the time, I convinced myself I imagined it.
Now I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“Maya…” I whispered painfully. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
A bitter smile touched her lips.
“Would you have believed me?”
The question stabbed straight into my chest.
Because the horrifying answer was probably no.
Back then, I would have defended my mother immediately.
I would have called Maya emotional.
Paranoid.
Traumatized by grief.
God.
What kind of husband had I been?
Maya slowly wiped tears from her cheeks.
“I kept quiet because I had no proof,” she whispered. “And because I knew how much you loved your mother.”
I looked down at the documents again.
“There’s more,” Maya said softly.
With trembling hands, I continued reading.
A private toxicology test.
Prescription traces.
Repeated chemical exposure.
Then another page.
A doctor’s handwritten note.
Patient’s condition strongly suggests intentional long-term poisoning.
My vision blurred instantly.
Intentional.
Intentional.
Someone had deliberately harmed my wife.
The woman I loved.
The woman who lost our children.
The woman who suffered for years believing her own body had failed her.
And suddenly another memory hit me so hard I nearly dropped the papers.
Three years ago.
The night after Maya’s second miscarriage.
I had exploded during an argument.
“You’re obsessed with trying to find someone to blame!” I shouted at her back then.
Maya had stood there crying silently while I continued:
“Maybe this is just fate! Maybe nobody did anything!”
And now…
Now I realized she had been trying to tell me the truth all along.
I covered my mouth with shaking hands.
“Oh God…”
Maya looked at me sadly.
“I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
I stood up suddenly, rage flooding every part of my body.
“I’m going to the police.”
“No.”
I turned sharply toward her.
“No?!”
Maya flinched slightly at my tone.
Then quietly said:
“I already tried.”
“What?”
“Two years ago.”
The room fell silent again.
Maya stared at the ceiling as she spoke.
“The police said there wasn’t enough evidence. The doctor who helped me gather the reports suddenly changed his statement afterward.”
A terrible feeling crept into my stomach.
“My mother paid someone,” I whispered.
Maya said nothing.
But her silence answered everything.
I felt sick.
Physically sick.
Because I finally understood the horrifying truth:
While I was busy blaming Maya for our broken marriage…
She had been fighting a nightmare completely alone.
And the worst part?
The person she probably needed most…
Was me.
I sat back down slowly, unable to process the crushing guilt consuming me.
“Maya…” My voice broke. “Why didn’t you hate me?”
A faint, exhausted smile touched her lips.
“I tried.”
Tears rolled down her cheeks.
“But I loved you too much.”
That sentence shattered whatever remained inside me.
I bent forward immediately, holding her fragile hand against my forehead while sobs tore through my chest.
“I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I’m so sorry…”
Maya cried too.
Not loudly.
Never loudly.
Just quiet tears sliding down a tired woman’s face.
The kind of crying that comes after carrying pain for far too long.
That night, I barely slept.
I sat beside her bed replaying every year of our marriage inside my head.
Every warning sign I ignored.
Every time my mother insulted her subtly.
Every moment Maya looked frightened but stayed silent.
And suddenly, terrible details began connecting together.
The vitamins.
The miscarriages.
The constant weakness.
The stomach pain.
Even the leukemia.
At sunrise, I stormed out of the hospital and drove directly to my mother’s house.
I don’t remember speeding through the streets of Budapest.
I barely remember parking.
I only remember rage.
Pure rage.
My mother opened the door wearing her silk robe, looking mildly surprised.
“Arjun? It’s early—”
I shoved the medical documents toward her.
“What did you give Maya?”
For the first time in my life…
My mother looked genuinely frightened.
Only for a second.
Then her expression hardened.
“I don’t know what nonsense she’s filling your head with now.”
“DON’T LIE TO ME!”
My voice exploded through the house.
She stared at me coldly.
“You divorced her already. Why are you still obsessed with that woman?”
That woman.
Not Maya.
Not your wife.
Not the mother of your grandchildren.
Just that woman.
Something inside me snapped completely.
“She lost our babies!”
“And whose fault was that?” my mother replied sharply.
The silence afterward felt monstrous.
I stared at her.
Slowly.
Disbelievingly.
Then she said the sentence that destroyed whatever relationship remained between us forever.
“She was weak, Arjun.”
I froze.
My mother crossed her arms calmly.
“That girl brought sadness into this family from the beginning.”
My blood ran cold.
“You hated her…”
“She trapped you in misery,” my mother snapped back. “You stopped smiling after marrying her!”
“She was suffering!”
“And she made you suffer too!”
I stepped backward slowly.
Because suddenly I saw my mother clearly for the very first time.
Not loving.
Not protective.
Controlling.
Cold.
Obsessed with owning my life.
“She poisoned Maya,” I whispered to myself.
My mother’s face changed instantly.
Only slightly.
But enough.
Enough to confirm everything.
“Be careful what accusations you make,” she said quietly.
That quietness terrified me more than screaming would have.
“You killed my children.”
“Arjun—”
“You destroyed my wife!”
“She destroyed herself!” my mother shouted suddenly.
The words echoed violently through the house.
Then came silence.
Heavy.
Ugly.
Unforgivable.
I looked at her one final time.
And realized I no longer recognized the woman standing in front of me.
“You’re dead to me,” I whispered.
Then I walked out.
Behind me, my mother called my name repeatedly.
But I never turned around.
When I returned to the hospital, Maya was awake.
The moment she saw my face, she immediately understood.
“You confronted her.”
I nodded slowly.
Maya looked frightened.
“What happened?”
I sat beside her quietly for several seconds before answering.
“She never denied it.”
Maya closed her eyes.
A tear slipped down her cheek immediately.
Not triumph.
Not relief.
Just heartbreak.
Because no matter what happened…
Part of her once loved my mother too.
I took Maya’s hand carefully.
“I’m going to expose everything,” I whispered.
But Maya suddenly tightened her grip weakly.
“Don’t.”
I frowned.
“She’ll hurt you again.”
“I don’t care.”
“I do.”
Her voice cracked painfully.
“Arjun… I don’t want the rest of your life destroyed by hatred.”
I stared at her in disbelief.
How could she still think about protecting me after everything?
“You almost died because of her.”
Maya lowered her eyes.
“I know.”
I wanted revenge.
God, I wanted it.
But looking at Maya lying there so weak, so exhausted…
I realized something.
Revenge wouldn’t save her.
Time was running out.
And suddenly every second mattered more than anger.
So instead of chasing vengeance…
I stayed beside her.
Every day.
Every hour.
I learned how to help during her nausea.
How to calm her shaking hands after chemotherapy.
How to make her laugh again, even briefly.
Sometimes at night she couldn’t sleep because of pain.
So I would sit beside her bed and tell her stories from when we first met.
Like the day we accidentally got caught in the rain near the Danube River.
Maya laughed softly remembering it.
“You looked so angry.”
“Because my shoes were ruined.”
“You cared more about your shoes than me.”
“I married you afterward, didn’t I?”
That smile she gave me then…
God.
I would have traded years of my life just to keep seeing it.
One snowy evening, Maya suddenly whispered:
“If I survive… will we try again?”
I looked at her carefully.
“Try what?”
“Us.”
My chest tightened instantly.
I leaned closer and kissed her forehead gently.
“There was never anyone else for me, Maya.”
She started crying quietly after hearing that.
And honestly…
So did I.
But fate can be cruel when happiness finally returns.
Two weeks later, Maya collapsed.
One moment she was smiling weakly while drinking tea beside the hospital window.
The next…
The cup slipped from her fingers.
And she fell.
Everything happened fast after that.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Machines.
I remember someone pulling me away while I shouted her name.
Then hours of waiting.
Endless hours.
Finally, near midnight, the gray-haired doctor approached me again.
His face looked pale.
And before he even spoke…
I knew.
“She asked for you.”
My legs nearly gave out as I entered the room.
Maya looked impossibly fragile beneath the white blankets.
The machines beeped softly around her.
Her breathing sounded uneven.
But when she saw me…
She smiled.
That beautiful, heartbreaking smile.
I sat beside her immediately, gripping her hand carefully.
“I’m here.”
Maya looked at me for a long time.
Then whispered something so softly I almost missed it.
“I was pregnant again.”
The world stopped.
“What…?”
Tears slid from the corners of her eyes.
“I found out shortly before the divorce.”
My heart nearly exploded inside my chest.
“You never told me?”
“I wanted to,” she whispered weakly. “But then I lost the baby too.”
I broke completely.
Everything suddenly made sense.
Her sadness.
Her silence.
Her hopelessness before the divorce.
All that time…
She had been grieving another child alone.
And I abandoned her anyway.
I buried my face against her hand, sobbing uncontrollably.
“Maya… please don’t leave me…”
Her weak fingers moved slowly through my hair.
Just like she used to do years ago.
Then, barely audible, she whispered:
“There’s one more thing you still don’t know…”
I looked up immediately.
Maya’s eyes filled with fear.
“The leukemia…”
Her breathing trembled.
“The doctors believe it may not have happened naturally either.”
My blood turned to ice.
And at that exact moment…
The hospital room door slowly opened behind me.
And when I turned around and saw who was standing there…
I realized the nightmare was far from over.
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