It had begun as an arranged marriage, a polite alliance between families. He wasn’t cruel, only distant, and over time you fell for his quiet care. When you became pregnant he seemed to soften, bringing your tea, whispering about the son they would soon hold. you thought the walls between them had fallen.

Lately, though, his smile had faded. He stayed out late, phone locked, gaze elsewhere. you told yourself it was work. That night he came home smelling of alcohol and tried to make love to you. you refused, frightened for the child inside you. But He left you alone in the bed, left before dawn.

By midday the pain began—sharp, tearing, blood soaking your hands. you dialed his number again and again, your voice breaking with each call. He declined every time,murmuring excuses about meetings while he sat with his ex girlfriend in a quiet café.

When he finally returned, the house was silent. Servants stared at the floor. He demanded "Where's my wife?"The butler, trembling, whispered: “Sir…my Lady miscarried. She suffered alone. she tried to reach you,but you reject to listen to her,They’re at the cemetery now… burying your son.”

Upstairs, the nursery waited, tiny clothes folded, a cradle empty, a mobile spinning slowly, echoing everything he had lost.his chest tighten with guilt.