Mother of Me

Chapter 18: The Return of the Husband

The eighth day of the swap felt deceptively peaceful in Satyamoorthy Residence. The new Sangeetha had chosen to wear a simple, everyday light pink cotton saree with a thin gold border. She wanted to feel the last few days fully, to immerse herself in her mother’s life one last time before the reversal.

The new Prakash helped her drape the saree. His hands moved with practiced ease now, tucking the pleats neatly into her petticoat, adjusting the pallu over her heavy breasts, and pinning it securely. The mangalsutra rested deep in her cleavage, the gold coins warm against her skin. She completed the look with small earrings, bangles, and a fresh bindi. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt a strange mix of resignation and quiet acceptance.

They spent the morning together, unusually happy and relaxed. The new Prakash made tea while the new Sangeetha prepared a simple lunch. They sat at the dining table, talking openly about the swap.

“Only two more days, Amma,” the new Prakash said with a soft smile. “I’ll miss this freedom… but I also miss being me. How are you feeling now?”

The new Sangeetha adjusted her pallu and sighed. “Tired, Prakash. Very tired. This body is so heavy. The breasts, the saree, the constant adjustments… But I’ve also learnt so much. I never understood how difficult Amma’s life was. When we go back, I promise I’ll help more.”

They both smiled at each other, a tender, understanding moment between mother and son, even in their swapped bodies.

The atmosphere in the house felt lighter than it had in many years.

Then the doorbell rang.

Tring… Tring…

The new Sangeetha stood up casually, thinking it was probably a delivery or one of the new neighbours. She adjusted her pallu one last time and walked to the door, her anklets chiming softly.

She opened the door with a gentle smile.

The smile froze on her face.

Standing in front of her was a tall man in his early forties. He had a well-trimmed beard with streaks of grey, sharp eyes, and a strong, weathered face. He carried two large suitcases and a duffel bag. The familiar silhouette hit her like lightning.

It was Selvam. Her father. Her mother’s husband.

For a split second, time stopped.

Behind her, the new Prakash (original Sangeetha) stood frozen in the hall, eyes wide with pure trauma. Eight years of painful memories flooded back, the shouting, the beating, the drunken nights, the sounds of her mother crying through the thin walls.

Selvam’s eyes softened the moment he saw “his wife.” Without a word, he stepped forward and pulled her into a tight, emotional hug.

“Sangeetha…” he whispered hoarsely, voice cracking. “I’m back. I’m so sorry for leaving you both.”

The new Sangeetha’s body went rigid. She wanted to scream. She wanted to push him away. But fear and shock kept her frozen.

Selvam buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking a deep sniff of her scent, the familiar mix of her talcum powder, sweat, and the faint smell of her hair oil. His large hands roamed her back, one hand sliding down to the back of her blouse, fingers brushing against the bra strap through the thin fabric.

The new Sangeetha felt every touch like fire on her skin. His rough fingers on her blouse, the way his chest pressed against her heavy breasts, the warm breath on her nape, it was deeply violating. Tears filled her eyes. A thousand terrifying thoughts raced through her mind:

If I tell him the truth right now, will he kill us?
What if he finds out we swapped bodies? He’ll think we’re mad.*
If I don’t tell him, will he want to have sex tonight?
Will he beat me like he used to beat Amma?
What if he forces himself on me? This body… my mother’s body…

Hundreds of painful flashbacks flooded her , young Prakash hiding under the bed, hearing his mother’s cries, the sound of slaps, the smell of alcohol.

Selvam finally pulled back, eyes wet with tears. He cupped “his wife’s” cheeks gently with both hands.

“I’m sorry, Sangeetha. I was a monster back then. But I’ve changed. I’m a completely different man now. Let’s be a family again. Please.”

The new Sangeetha could only nod weakly, too traumatized to speak.

An hour later, the house felt completely different.

Selvam’s suitcases and bags were scattered in the hall. He sat on the sofa like he had never left, looking around with emotional eyes. The new Sangeetha, still shaken and sweating, brought him a cup of tea with trembling hands. Her pallu had slipped slightly, revealing more cleavage, but she quickly adjusted it.

The new Prakash sat next to his “father,” stiff and scared, unable to think clearly.

Selvam took his wife’s hand and made her sit close to him on the sofa. He put his arm around her shoulders possessively, pulling her against his body. The new Sangeetha sat rigidly, feeling his strong arm around her soft, feminine frame.

Then he began telling his story.

“I was hired by a private security company in Dubai. They needed someone who could blend in. I went deep undercover as a mercenary in Afghanistan. Infiltrated dangerous groups. Saw horrible things. Lost many friends. After eight years, the mission finally ended. During all those lonely nights, I realised one thing, family is everything. I was a fool to treat you both the way I did. I want to make up for everything.”

He spoke for nearly forty minutes, voice full of regret. The new Sangeetha and new Prakash listened in stunned silence.

While Selvam took a nap on the sofa, exhausted from his long journey, the new Sangeetha and new Prakash slipped into the kitchen.

They spoke in urgent, frightened whispers.

“What are we going to do?!” the new Sangeetha whispered, voice shaking. “He’s back! And he wants to be with his wife!”

The new Prakash looked equally terrified. “We have to call Meera right now.”

They quickly called Dr. Meera.

Meera listened carefully and replied, “The reversal process needs at least 3–4 more days of preparation. The bodies are still adjusting from the periods and hormonal shifts. You have to continue acting normally for now… or you can tell him the truth. But be very careful.”

They ended the call, still scared but hopeful.

The new Sangeetha whispered, “He says he’s changed. Maybe we should tell him the truth before anything else happens…”

The new Prakash nodded slowly. “Yes… we have to tell him.”

They took a deep breath and walked back into the hall together.

Selvam was no longer sleeping.

He was sitting on the sofa, opening one of his large bags. In his hands was a black pistol. He was calmly cleaning it with a cloth, checking the magazine with practiced movements.

The new Sangeetha and new Prakash froze in the doorway, blood draining from their faces.

Selvam looked up at them with a small, tired smile.

“Don’t worry,” he said casually. “Old habits from the job. I’ll keep it locked away.”

But the sight of the gun in his hand sent a fresh wave of terror through both of them.

The storm had arrived.

And it was far more dangerous than they had imagined.