Willingly Broken

Chapter 16: The Last Three Months of Peace

Three months.

That was all the time I gave myself before pressing the final button.

Three months of pretending to be the perfect wife and mother while my revenge plan reached its final stages in the shadows.

Those three months were… strangely blissful.

I had become a full time stay at home mother.

Every morning I woke up at 5:30 a.m., fed little Meera (now three months old) from my own breasts. The feeling of her tiny mouth suckling, her small hands pressing against my soft flesh, and the warm milk flowing, it was an experience I never thought I would have. My body had adapted beautifully to induced lactation. I would sit on the bed in my nightie, mangalsutra resting between my full breasts, gently rocking her while Karthik (now almost three) slept peacefully beside us.

After feeding Meera, I would bathe both children. Karthik loved splashing water on me, laughing loudly when my saree got wet. I would dress them, pack Karthik’s preschool bag, and send him off with Murugan in the morning.

Then the house work began.

I cleaned the entire villa with care, mopping floors, washing vessels, folding clothes, cooking lunch and dinner. My body moved gracefully in whatever saree I wore that day , usually a simple cotton one that clung to my curves from sweat. The flat steel cage between my legs had become a constant, almost comforting presence. My bangles never stopped chiming. The mangalsutra swayed between my breasts as I worked. Sweat rolled down my armpits and back, mixing with my feminine musk.

But I didn’t hate it anymore.

Murugan had changed completely.

He came home early every day. He no longer drank much. He played with Karthik for hours, lifting him high and making him fly like an aeroplane. He helped me with the children at night. He massaged my feet after a long day of housework. He would hug me from behind while I cooked, kiss my neck gently, and whisper, “You are the best thing that happened to me, Mahalaxmi.”

One evening, while we were sitting on the balcony watching the sea, he shared his dreams.

“Let’s move out of this big villa compund after some time. We don’t need big luxury. We can move to a smaller, peaceful place maybe near Pondicherry or Coimbatore. Buy a modest house, a small shop for me to run, one car. Raise our children simply. I want a peaceful life with you and the kids. No more tension. No more past.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, acting happy and emotional.

“Yes, husband… that sounds perfect. I would love that life.”

Inside, I felt a strange ache.

This man, who had once helped destroy me, had genuinely fallen in love with the life we had created.

Charu was still with us.

She had delivered her baby girl (Meera) and had recovered well. She stayed as a maid but was treated more like family now. She babysat the children sometimes, giving me time to rest.

In our secret moments, she would whisper, “I have more evidence, akka. Bank transactions. Voice recordings. Everything.”

I would nod and hug her. “Just a little longer.”

She knew I was still planning. She never asked me to stop.

Those three months were truly blissful on the surface.

Karthik started preschool and came home every day with drawings of “Amma, Appa, and baby sister.” Meera’s first smile was directed at me. Murugan took us on small weekend outings, to the beach, to temples, to simple restaurants. He would feed me with his own hands sometimes, adjusting my pallu when it slipped, tucking jasmine in my hair.

I acted happy. I laughed with them. I played the perfect wife and mother.

But every night, after everyone slept, I would check the hidden files on my second phone. The evidence was damning. Terrorist links, human trafficking, money laundering, drug routes , everything. The punishment they would face would be life imprisonment or even the death penalty for some charges.

I looked at Murugan sleeping peacefully beside me, one hand resting on my waist, and whispered in my mind:

Sorry…

I really am sorry.

You became a good husband and father in the end.

But what you all did… cannot be forgiven.

On the last day of the third month, I made my final decision.

I kissed both children on their foreheads while they slept, adjusted my saree, and looked at myself in the mirror, a beautiful, curvy, content-looking Tamil wife and mother.

I picked up my handbag, which contained the final trigger.

Tomorrow, everything would change.

But tonight… I would sleep one last time as Mahalaxmi Murugan.

The wife.

The mother.

The woman I had chosen to become.