Mother of Me

Chapter 28: The Volcano Erupts

The morning after the nightmare arrived with cruel brightness.

Sunlight streamed through the curtains of the bedroom, illuminating the new Sangeetha’s tear-streaked face. She lay curled up on the bed, still completely naked, her body aching in places she never wanted to think about. Her thighs were bruised. Her vagina felt sore and swollen, leaking the remnants of last night’s violation. Her heavy breasts bore red fingerprints from Selvam’s rough grip. The taste of her own panty still lingered faintly in her mouth.

Selvam woke up beside her, stretching lazily like a satisfied animal. He looked at her naked, trembling body and smirked. Without a word, he brought his large hand down hard on her plump ass, a loud, stinging spank that echoed in the room.

SMACK!

“Wake up properly, wife,” he said casually, as if it were normal. He spanked her again, harder, watching her soft flesh jiggle. “Make breakfast. And dress nicely today. My mother is watching.”

He got up, dressed quickly, and left the house without another glance, slamming the door behind him.

The new Sangeetha broke down completely the moment he was gone. She curled into a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably. Her body shook with violent tremors. The reality hit her like a hammer:

My own father… raped me…

Even though it was her mother’s body, the psychological horror was devastating. She felt dirty, violated, and utterly broken. The mangalsutra still hung between her sore breasts, a cruel symbol of the marriage she was trapped in.

She cried for nearly an hour, whispering through sobs, “I’m supposed to be Prakash… I’m just a boy… why is this happening to me?”

The new Prakash (real Sangeetha) returned home around 9:30 AM after the late-night movie. The moment he entered the bedroom and saw his “mother” naked, curled up, and crying bitterly, his heart shattered.

“dei…!” he rushed to her side, covering her with a bedsheet. “What happened?! Tell me!”

Between broken sobs and heavy breathing, the new Sangeetha told him everything. Every slap. Every degrading word. How Selvam had ripped her panty, gagged her with it, tied her up, and raped her brutally. How he had admitted he was never a mercenary but involved with terrorists. How he planned to keep her as his wife forever.

The new Prakash listened in stunned silence. Then something powerful awakened inside him, the deep, protective motherly love that had always lived in Sangeetha’s heart. Even though he was in a male body, the fury that surged through him was purely maternal.

His hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened. Tears of rage filled his eyes.

“That bastard…” he growled. “He touched you… he raped you… in my body!”

He pulled the new Sangeetha into his arms, holding her gently, stroking her long hair like a mother would comfort her child.

“Listen to me carefully,” he said, his voice steady despite the anger. “This is not incest. That man is not your real father biologically. I was raped when I was 15 by a distant relative. I got pregnant with you. My family didn’t want the shame, so they quickly married me off to Selvam. He only married me because my father promised money and property. He never loved me. He abused me from the beginning, beat me, forced himself on me, treated me like a slave.”

The new Sangeetha looked up with wide, tearful eyes, listening in shock.

“I made sure I could never get pregnant again after you were born,” the new Prakash continued. “I studied secretly, worked hard, became a teacher… all for you. The only reason I tolerated him for so long was for your safety. I didn’t want you to grow up without a father or see your mother destroyed completely.”

He wiped the tears from the new Sangeetha’s face.

“But now… he has crossed every limit. I will finish him. I will destroy him, even if I have to burn everything down.”

The new Sangeetha, despite her trauma, suddenly sat up with fiery determination in her eyes.

“No,” she said firmly, her voice trembling but strong. “We will bring him to justice. He told me in his drunken state that he raped many women during his time with the terrorist group. We need evidence. We need proof. I… I am willing to endure a little longer if it means we can put him behind bars forever.”

The new Prakash tried to argue, his protective instincts screaming, but the new Sangeetha was resolute.

“I have lived as you for a month. I have suffered what Amma suffered for years. I understand her pain now. We will do this the right way. For justice.”

After a long emotional discussion, the new Prakash finally nodded, though his eyes still burned with rage.

That evening, Selvam returned home drunk again.

He entered the bedroom with a lecherous smile, already unbuttoning his shirt, clearly intending to continue where he left off the previous night.

The new Sangeetha was lying on the bed in her nighty, pretending to be asleep, her body tense with fear.

Just as Selvam climbed onto the bed and reached for her, the door opened.

The new Prakash walked in.

“Appa… I had a nightmare,” he said in a soft, emotional voice. “Can I sleep with you both tonight? Please… like old times.”

Selvam looked irritated, but he couldn’t refuse in front of his “son.” He grunted and shifted to the side.

The new Prakash lay down in the middle, between Selvam and the new Sangeetha.

For the first time in many nights, the new Sangeetha felt a small sense of safety. Her “son” her real mother was acting as a shield.

Selvam grumbled but eventually fell asleep.

In the darkness, the new Sangeetha reached out and held the new Prakash’s hand tightly under the blanket.

They lay there mother and son, swapped, broken, but united in their quiet resolve.

The volcano had erupted.

Now they would make sure it buried the monster beneath its ash.