Lucky To Have You

Guilty

Ananya took a shaky breath, glancing down at her trembling hands before lifting her gaze back to her parents.

For once, she let the raw truth spill out, unfiltered by the fear of disappointing them.

“All my life, I’ve done nothing but try to make you proud,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, yet each word resonating with years of pent-up hurt.

“Every choice I made—what I wore, how I spoke, the friends I kept, even the dreams I let go of—it was all for you. You wanted a daughter who followed your every rule, who didn’t question anything, and that’s exactly what I became.”

Her father’s face tightened, but he held her gaze. Her mother looked away, a flicker of guilt flashing across her face, though she quickly masked it with a hardened expression.

“And even now,” Ananya continued, her voice gaining strength, “even now, I’m not allowed to just… be. It’s like my happiness doesn’t matter if it doesn’t look exactly the way you wanted it to.

Why, Mom? Dad?
Why do I have to lose myself just to be the daughter you’re proud of? Why is that price never enough?”

Her mother’s mouth opened slightly, but she quickly closed it, unwilling to acknowledge the guilt that lingered in her eyes.

Her father shifted uncomfortably, as if the weight of her words were physically pressing down on him, but still, he remained silent, his pride and stubbornness holding him back.

The silence in the room was heavy, and Varun’s family watched the scene with a mix of sympathy and quiet understanding, each of them sensing the depth of Ananya’s pain.

Varun’s mother finally spoke, her tone soft yet firm. “Sometimes, the most painful thing a parent can do is to realize that their expectations have become a burden to their child,”

she said gently, her eyes on Ananya’s parents. “Maybe it’s time to let her be who she wants to be. To trust that she’ll honor everything you taught her in her own way.”

Ananya’s mother clenched her hands, her expression tight. “We… we only ever wanted the best for you, Ananya,” she muttered, her tone defensive, as if to justify herself.

“You may see it as controlling, but we raised you with values. We just… we just wanted you to be respectable, to live a life we could be proud of.”

“But can’t you see?” Ananya’s voice cracked. “All I ever wanted was for you to be proud of me, too. But I wanted it without having to sacrifice myself completely. It shouldn’t feel like a punishment to be your daughter.”

Her father shifted, a look of guilt flashing in his eyes as he listened. But still, pride held him in place, keeping him from admitting any wrongdoing.

He cleared his throat, his voice gruff. “It was never our intention to hurt you, Ananya. But… perhaps we didn’t know any other way. We thought we were doing right by you.”

Ananya gave a small, bitter laugh, wiping away a stray tear. “Maybe that’s true, Dad. But it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve been carrying the weight of your expectations alone, and it’s too heavy.”

Her mother’s lips trembled, but she forced herself to remain silent, unwilling to show weakness or admit fault.

They stood there, their silence a quiet admission, a guilty acknowledgment of the years she’d spent trying to be enough for them.

Varun, who had been quietly observing, wrapped an arm around Ananya’s shoulders, his touch grounding her. He looked her parents in the eye, his tone firm but respectful.

“Ananya deserves to be happy. Not just as your daughter, but as herself. I promise to respect who she is, and I hope that someday, you both can do the same.”

Her parents stood there, guilt and discomfort etched into their expressions, yet still unwilling to openly accept the truth.

But even if they wouldn’t say it, Ananya could feel that her words had reached them, breaking through their pride, even if only slightly. She had finally made her voice heard.

And though it didn’t erase the pain, it gave her a sense of relief she hadn’t known she needed.

And with Varun’s hand in hers, she took a steadying breath, knowing that no matter what, she would no longer carry this burden alone.