Page 68 of The Defiant Wife

The room is quiet. She seems to be asleep. Moonlight spills through the tall windows, painting pale silver across the floor.

I didn't know she talks in her sleep. Not full conversations. Just random, incoherent mumbling every now and then.

Five minutes ago she threatened someone named Bob with bodily harm if he touched her chocolate stash. The girl is unconscious and still picking fights.

A corner of my mouth almost twitches.

I stare at the ceiling. Because unfortunately my brain has decided tonight is a good time for thinking.

A terrible decision.

I turn my head slightly.

The moonlight catches the outline of her face. She's sleeping on her side. One hand tucked beneath her cheek. The other resting carelessly on the blanket.

For the first time since I've known her, she's completely still. No arguments. No dramatic speeches. No attempts to provoke me. No suspicious plans brewing behind her eyes. Just peace.

Strangely, she looks younger when she's asleep.

Softer.

And suddenly I understand why seeing her in that meeting the day before yesterday bothered me so much. Because it wasn't just that her father was being disrespectful. It wasn't just the comments. Or the way he spoke about her. It was the look in her eyes. The exhaustion. Like she'd heard every word before. Like none of it surprised her.

I exhale slowly. My gaze shifts back to the ceiling.

Something about her parents doesn't sit right with me. It hasn't from the beginning.

When the board first sent me to the NGO, I'd heard enough about the Goyals to know who they were.

Wealthy.

Well-connected.

Philanthropic.

The sort of family newspapers loved featuring. Every article showed smiling photographs. Perfect family portraits. Their daughter standing proudly beside them.

A family everyone admired.

Yet the people I met don't resemble those photographs at all.

I think about her father. About the way his hand tightened around her wrist. The way he spoke over her. The way he looked relieved when marriage entered the conversation. Not emotional. Not hesitant. Relieved. As though someone had finally solved a problem. The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

Then there's her mother.

I frown.

Because somehow that bothered me even more. Cruel people are easy to understand. You know where you stand with them. Indifference is harder. Her mother had watched the entire conversation unfold without saying a word. Watched her daughter sit there being discussed like a business transaction. She watched her cry. She watched her fall apart. And nothing. Not a single protective instinct. Not a single objection.

Nothing.

I rub a hand across my face. We knew she was adopted. That was never hidden from anyone. But adoption isn't the issue.

Hell, Bhai sa always says family has very little to do with blood and everything to do with choice.

I've seen enough proof of that in my own life.

No.