Falling from Grace

Chapter 6: A Mother's Desperation

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The house was quiet, too quiet. It was a silence that pressed down on Ritika, suffocating her as she sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the steaming cup of tea in her hands. It had gone cold hours ago, but she hadn't moved. The weight of the world seemed to anchor her in place, her mind a storm of worries and unanswered questions.

Samaira's laughter echoed faintly from upstairs, a rare burst of joy in a home that felt like it was crumbling. Ritika clung to that sound, her heart aching. Her daughter didn't deserve this chaos. None of them did.

Her phone buzzed on the table, snapping her out of her thoughts. She picked it up hesitantly, dreading yet another wave of hateful messages or sensational headlines. Instead, it was a text from her mother:

"Beta, are you okay? Should we come over?"

Ritika's fingers hovered over the keyboard. Her parents had been following the news from their home in Nagpur, calling every day to check on her. They had offered to come, but Ritika had refused. Having them in the middle of this media circus felt like exposing them to a danger she couldn't control.

"We're okay, Ma," she typed back, though the lie tasted bitter. "I'll let you know if we need anything."

She set the phone down and buried her face in her hands. Her thoughts swirled with guilt, anger, and a desperation she couldn't shake. How had things spiraled so far out of control?

The sound of footsteps pulled her from her misery. Rohit walked in, his face grim and his phone clutched tightly in his hand.

"They're not backing off," he said without preamble. "I just got off the phone with the PR team. They're saying we need to go on record again, maybe even hold a press conference."

Ritika shot him a look of disbelief. "A press conference? Are they serious? That'll only make things worse. The media will twist everything we say."

"I know," Rohit admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But we can't stay silent forever. The longer this drags on, the more they'll make up their own stories. We need to set the record straight."

"And then what?" Ritika asked, her voice rising. "What happens after the press conference, Rohit? Do you think they'll magically stop harassing us? That people will suddenly stop blaming Samaira?"

Her voice cracked as she said her daughter's name, and tears welled up in her eyes. She hated how helpless she felt, how powerless they both were against the storm raging outside their home.

Rohit walked over and crouched beside her, placing a hand on her knee. "We'll find a way through this, Ritika. I promise."

But his promise felt empty, a hollow echo of the reassurances he had been giving her for days.

Later that evening, after Samaira had fallen asleep, Ritika found herself scrolling through news articles on her phone. She knew it was a bad idea—every headline only deepened her despair—but she couldn't stop.

Her heart sank as she came across a particularly vicious editorial:

"Is Samaira Sharma a Victim or a Villain?"

The article rehashed every detail of the alleged incident, quoting unnamed "sources" who claimed Samaira had been rough with Vamika during playtime. The writer speculated about the "responsibility" of celebrity parents and questioned whether Rohit and Ritika were fit to protect their daughter from the consequences of her actions.

Ritika threw the phone onto the couch, her chest heaving with anger. How dare they? How could they write such lies about a child?

Her frustration boiled over, and she stood abruptly, pacing the room. She couldn't just sit here and let this happen. She had to do something, anything, to protect her family.

Ritika grabbed her phone and dialed a number she hadn't called in years. It rang twice before a familiar voice answered.

"Ritika? Is everything okay?"

It was her best friend from college, Neha, who now worked as a journalist for a major news outlet.

"No, Neha, everything's not okay," Ritika said, her voice shaking. "You've seen the news, haven't you?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Yes, I have. I was going to call you, but I didn't want to intrude."

"Well, I need your help," Ritika said, desperation creeping into her tone. "You're a journalist. You know how this works. How do we stop this? How do we make them leave us alone?"

Neha sighed. "Ritika, it's not that simple. Once the media gets a story like this, they don't let go easily. But... I can try to help. I can write something—something that tells your side of the story."

"Will it work?" Ritika asked, clutching the phone tightly.

"I don't know," Neha admitted. "But it's worth a shot. You need to counter their narrative. If you stay silent, they'll just keep making things up."

Ritika closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "Thank you, Neha. I don't know what else to do."

"We'll figure it out," Neha promised. "I'll reach out to some contacts and start drafting something. Just hang in there, okay?"

After hanging up, Ritika felt a flicker of hope, though it was quickly overshadowed by doubt. Could one article really make a difference?

The next morning, Rohit found Ritika in the kitchen, nursing yet another untouched cup of tea.

"You were up late," he said, sitting down across from her.

"I called Neha," she admitted. "She's going to write an article for us. To tell our side of the story."

Rohit raised an eyebrow. "Do you think that'll help?"

"I don't know," Ritika said honestly. "But we have to try something. We can't just let them destroy Samaira's future."

Rohit nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe you're right. At least it's a start."

The sound of Samaira's footsteps interrupted their conversation. She came running into the kitchen, her face lit up with a smile.

"Good morning, Mama! Good morning, Papa!" she chirped, climbing onto Ritika's lap.

Ritika hugged her tightly, savoring the moment of innocence amidst the chaos.

"Good morning, sweetheart," she said, forcing a smile.

As Samaira chattered about her dreams and what she wanted for breakfast, Ritika and Rohit exchanged a look. Their daughter was their world, and they would do whatever it took to protect her.

Even if it meant fighting a battle they weren't sure they could win.

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