Chapter 4: Doubt, Surveillance, and the Trap

With Amit’s help, I felt a bit more at ease. Ananya, probably feeling guilty, stopped working overtime and came home before dark. Just like that, two weeks passed. Amit said everything was normal with Ananya at the company—didn’t see her getting close to any male colleagues. He even told me not to overthink things or it would affect my marriage.

Our house settled into a routine—Ananya at home for dinner, occasional smiles exchanged over the clatter of plates, her coldness thawing just enough to fool a casual observer. But the wound inside me refused to heal.

If I hadn’t found that prenatal check-up slip and abortion discharge summary, I might have believed him. But the facts are right in front of me—the evidence of her cheating is rock solid.

Every night, I’d lie awake, replaying those documents in my mind. There was no getting away from the truth.

“Bro, tell me the truth: what did Ananya do to make you so sure she cheated?”

Amit’s voice on the phone was light, but I could sense an undercurrent of tension. Maybe he was annoyed, maybe he was worried.

On the phone, seeing I wasn’t saying anything, Amit thought I didn’t believe him. “Anyway, your wife is fine at the company. Are you really sure she cheated? Or do you already have solid evidence?”

He sounded almost defensive, as if he wanted to shut down the conversation. The line crackled for a moment.

I thought about it. The fewer people who know about Ananya’s abortion, the better, so I didn’t mention it. “Just think I’m being paranoid.”

I tried to laugh it off, but it sounded hollow, even to me.

Amit was silent for two seconds. “Come on, since you have no evidence, then I really have to defend your wife. You know, office workers are super busy and stressed out—where’s the time to cheat? Your Ananya is even less likely. I say, you’ve been out of work too long and lost touch with reality. What’s the point of being a househusband, like a full-time housewife with too much time to think? Want to get a job again? Just so happens a friend of mine is looking for an operations head. Didn’t you used to do that? Want to give it a try? The pay’s great…”

His tone had turned patronising, the way uncles talk at weddings after a couple of pegs. I felt my blood boil. All those old insecurities about being jobless, about being a ‘kept man’, came flooding back.

“Bas, bas.” I cut him off, laughing. “You know I’m not interested in the corporate world anymore.”

I tried to keep it light, not letting him see how much his words stung. Amit chuckled awkwardly, dropping the subject.

Amit sighed on the phone. “But you can’t just stay home doing nothing. Don’t your in-laws give you attitude? I say, you should find a job to distract yourself. Otherwise, if your in-laws find out you’re doubting their daughter like this, they’ll say some nasty things again.”

He wasn’t wrong. My in-laws had never let me forget my unemployment. They’d made sure their daughter knew her worth—and mine.

I fell silent. I never formally told the family about my social media work. Including Ananya, everyone thinks I’m living off my savings. My father-in-law has said to my face more than once, ‘You only feel relaxed because you have no kids. If you had a child, let’s see if your money would last. This family is still supported by my daughter.’

Those words had cut deep. No matter what I did, it was never enough. I kept paying the bills, managing the house, but my contribution was always questioned.

They’re elders, so I didn’t want to argue. But Ananya never spoke up for me either. I’ve always paid the EMI and covered all living expenses. At most, Ananya would buy some groceries, but most of her salary went to clothes and makeup—the main household expenses were still on me. Isn’t that supporting the family?

I’d swallowed so much pride over the years, just to keep the peace. Sometimes, I wondered if Ananya even noticed.

I didn’t want to talk about this annoying topic anymore, so I brushed him off and hung up. But after hanging up, I had a nagging feeling that something was wrong.

I stared at the phone screen, Amit’s name still glowing. Something about his words, his tone, didn’t sit right.

Amit is my childhood buddy—not blood, but closer than brothers. I know him extremely well. He’s someone who reads people, knows boundaries—in other words, he has a very high EQ. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be so successful at work.

From climbing trees in the monsoon to sharing tuitions in high school, Amit and I had been inseparable. I knew the man inside out. Or so I thought.

Logically, since I’d already indicated I didn’t want to say how Ananya cheated on me, with his EQ, he shouldn’t have brought up Ananya again. But just now on the phone, Amit not only asked if I had evidence of Ananya cheating, he also kept hinting—intentionally or not—that I was just overthinking things, idle, and suspecting my wife for no reason.

The more I replayed our conversation, the more it felt off—like a scene in a movie where the villain slips up, but you don’t catch it till the end.

My heart gradually sank.

I felt a chill crawl up my spine, as if I’d left the fridge open and the cold had seeped into my bones.

…Could Amit have something to do with Ananya’s cheating?

The question made my skin prickle. Was it even possible? Amit had always been on my side. Or had he?

He wouldn’t lie to me, right? He’s my sworn brother, after all.

But betrayal can come from anywhere. My faith in him began to crack.

Although I kept telling myself not to suspect Amit, once the seed of doubt is planted, it takes root and grows. And that doubt, after Ananya messaged to say she was working late and wouldn’t be home for dinner, grew into a towering tree.

I stared at her message, the words blurring on the screen. My gut churned. Something was happening behind my back, and I was done being the blind fool.

Just a coincidence? Amit called to reassure me this afternoon, and now Ananya is ‘working late’ again?

It was too neat, too perfectly timed. My instincts screamed at me to act.

I forced myself to recall past clues. That’s right, Ananya was transferred to Amit’s marketing department two years ago, and now Amit is her direct boss. Whether she works late or goes on business trips, isn’t it all up to Amit?

The pattern was clear. Amit held all the strings. My trust, my wife, my life—he had access to everything.

My palms went cold.

The truth pressed down on me, suffocating. I wiped my hands on my kurta, but they wouldn’t stop shaking.

After it was completely dark, I messaged Ananya:

[When are you coming back?]

The city outside was buzzing—horns, vendors, the clang of someone’s pressure cooker—but inside our flat, there was only silence.

More than ten minutes later, Ananya replied:

[Still busy, writing an analysis report at the office. Later there’s a marketing meeting. You go to sleep, no need to wait for me.]

The words seemed rehearsed, too formal. Who writes like that to their husband? Not Ananya, not even when she was angry.

When I saw that message, I was already downstairs at their company building in Pune. Whether Ananya was telling the truth, and whether Amit had betrayed me, I’d know as soon as I went upstairs.

My legs felt heavy, but my resolve had never been clearer.

The company is on the fifteenth floor. Standing in the dim corridor, looking at Amit’s company’s already locked door, I felt like I’d been hit hard on the head—dizzy, barely able to stand.

The lift doors pinged shut behind me, and for a moment I just stood there, staring at the frosted glass with the company logo. The corridor lights flickered, casting long shadows. My phone’s battery was dying, but my heart thudded on, relentless.

The cleaning lady walked by with a bucket and turned off the corridor lights. I grabbed her and asked, “Is this company closed?”

She looked up, slightly startled, her bangles clinking. “Closed? They just got off work.”

“When did they get off work?”

She wrinkled her nose, a little irritated at my persistence. “How would I know? But when I came to clean at seven, the door was already locked.”

It was nine-thirty at night. Ananya’s company gets off at six. The building cleaner comes at seven and finds the door locked. Doesn’t that mean her so-called overtime meeting was a complete lie?

I staggered back, the reality hitting me with full force. There was no meeting, no work—just one giant betrayal.

I left the building in a daze. At this moment, I couldn’t tell whether Ananya’s cheating hurt me more, or Amit’s betrayal.

I drifted through the streets like a ghost, the night sounds muffled by the chaos in my mind. Betrayal from both the people I trusted most—it was almost cinematic, except this was my life.

One is my wife of seven years. The other is my sworn brother of over twenty years—my best friend. The two of them actually teamed up to fool me, playing me like a fool.

The world felt like it was crumbling beneath my feet. I wanted to scream, to punch something, but I just kept walking.

Why?

Why?

The word rang in my head, over and over, until it lost all meaning.

I didn’t want to believe something so cruel could happen to me. When I finally wandered home and saw the dark, empty flat, I suddenly laughed at myself.

I slumped against the front door, the keys still clutched in my hand. My own laughter sounded alien, a hollow mockery. I stared at the darkness, remembering Ananya’s laugh echoing through this hall—before it all turned silent.

Rohan, oh Rohan—look at what a failure you are as a man. Such a clumsy trick, and they still played you for a fool. If anyone’s going to get cheated on, it’s you.

That inner voice—the one I’d buried under years of compromise—finally screamed out. My cheeks were wet, but I didn’t bother wiping away the tears.

I wiped my face and forced myself to pull it together. Since those two scoundrels were heartless first, don’t blame me for being ruthless later.

My mother used to say, "If someone throws stones at you, make sure your hands are empty, so you can catch them." I was done letting stones hit me.

I bought pinhole cameras that same night and installed them in our bedroom, living room, kitchen, and other spots. Then I pretended nothing was wrong, continued playing the doting husband, numbing their vigilance.

I worked through the night, sweat running down my back, drilling tiny holes behind photo frames and in the showcase. If they wanted to make me a fool, I’d let them—just once more.

Sure enough, after a brief period of calm, Ananya got lazy about pretending to be nice and quickly returned to her usual coldness. I pretended not to notice.

I played my part, smiling, offering tea, sharing silly memes on WhatsApp, as if nothing had changed. Inside, I was seething.

After a few days, I decided to create an opportunity for Ananya and Amit to meet privately.

“It’s the end of the year. I got an invitation from the YouTube Creators platform to attend their annual event for top influencers. I haven’t gone out much these past two years—maybe I should take this chance to get out?”

I made sure to sound uncertain, as if I needed her permission. Old habits die hard.

Ananya scrolled through her phone, not even looking up. “Up to you.”

Her indifference was almost funny. The more I tried to sound concerned, the less she cared.

I sneered inside, but put on a worried face. “But what about your meals? If I go, who’ll take care of you? Maybe I shouldn’t go.”

I wanted her to feel safe—wanted her to let her guard down.

Ananya finally looked up, frowning. “I’m a grown woman, can’t I take care of myself? If you want to go, just go. Don’t use me as an excuse.”

That was all the assurance I needed. The trap was set.

I stared at the ceiling fan, knowing that by this time next week, nothing would be the same again.