CHAPTER 4 — What Must Be Sacrificed
966 Words
CHAPTER 4 — What Must Be Sacrificed
Clara closed the bedroom door slowly.
The soft click sounded louder than it should have. She didn’t move right away. She just stood there, her back against the door, as if she needed a moment to make sure she was truly alone.
But silence was never truly empty.
There was always something that followed her.
Clara stepped further into the room. Her dress was still neat, her hair perfectly in place—nothing about her appearance revealed what had just happened.
She stopped in front of the mirror.
Looking at herself.
A few seconds passed.
Then longer.
“You will never be better than your sister.”
The voice came suddenly.
Clear. Close.
As if someone was standing right behind her.
Clara slowly closed her eyes.
She knew that voice.
Too well.
“Elara knows how to carry herself.”
“She never embarrasses the family.”
“And you… You’re always lacking.”
Her hands slowly tightened at her sides.
Those words were nothing new. They were her mother’s voice—the one that had lived in her mind for years, repeating endlessly, never truly leaving.
Said too often.
Heard for too long.
Until they no longer sounded like criticism.
But like truth.
Clara opened her eyes.
Her reflection hadn’t changed.
Calm. Quiet. Never enough.
She took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. Her steps carried her toward the bed, but she didn’t sit. She just stood there, as if her body itself didn’t know whether to rest or to keep holding on.
Her phone lay on the table.
The screen lit up.
The name froze her in place.
Mother.
Clara stared at it for a few seconds.
Long enough to hope it would stop.
But it didn’t.
The vibration continued.
Insistent.
Finally, she picked it up.
Answered.
“Yes, Mom.”
“Clara.”
The voice on the other end was firm, without needing to be raised.
“What were you doing in the dining room earlier?”
Clara closed her eyes briefly.
Of course.
Her mother already knew.
“I was just—”
“You embarrassed us.”
The words cut in.
Sharp.
Leaving no space.
Clara fell silent.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
“One year of marriage, and you still haven’t learned how to adjust?” her mother continued. “What exactly have you been doing all this time?”
Clara swallowed.
“I’ve been trying.”
“And the result?”
No anger.
No raised voice.
That made it worse.
Clara didn’t answer.
Because she knew—
Nothing she said would ever be enough.
“Listen to me carefully.”
Her mother’s tone shifted.
Colder.
More certain.
“You don’t have another option.”
Clara closed her eyes.
“Marriage isn’t about what you feel. It’s about responsibility. About position.”
Each word was precise.
Measured.
Leaving no room to argue.
“And you’re lucky to be where you are.”
Lucky.
Always that word.
“If you can’t hold on to it…”
A brief pause.
“…then there’s nowhere else for you to go.”
The call ended.
Clara slowly lowered her phone.
Her hands felt colder now.
Nowhere.
Not in this house.
Not anywhere.
And for the first time—
Clara truly began to believe it.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Miss Clara… Madam is asking you to come downstairs.”
Clara opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
A few minutes later, she was seated in the sitting room.
The space was smaller, more enclosed. There was no light conversation. No attempt to appear warm.
Only judgment.
Karan’s mother sat upright, while his aunt remained beside her, watching Clara with an unreadable expression.
“Sit.”
Clara was already seated.
“We’ve been patient for a year.”
Clara didn’t respond.
“You haven’t delivered results,” she continued. “And now, you’re starting to show inappropriate behavior.”
“I’ve been trying.”
“Trying?” the aunt smiled faintly. “By staying busy at the hospital?”
Clara lifted her gaze.
“This family doesn’t need a doctor,” the woman continued. “We need a wife.”
Clara inhaled slowly.
“I can be both.”
“No.”
The answer came quickly.
Firm.
“You can’t.”
Silence.
“You have to choose.”
Clara didn’t move.
But inside—
She already knew.
“Starting next week, you won’t be returning to the hospital.”
Clara looked at her.
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ve taken care of it.”
Simple.
As if it were nothing.
“You’ll focus on the house.”
“That’s not my decision.”
The words came out faster than she intended.
Karan’s mother’s gaze shifted.
Colder.
“It is now.”
And then—
Another voice entered.
“You don’t need to work.”
Clara turned.
Karan stood at the doorway.
Calm.
Controlled.
“I’ve already provided everything.”
Clara shook her head slowly.
“It’s not about money.”
Karan stepped closer.
Measured.
Certain.
“Then what is it about?”
Clara paused.
Then answered—
“Identity.”
One word.
But enough to change the air in the room.
Karan looked at her for a few seconds.
Then smiled faintly.
“Your identity is my wife.”
The answer was simple.
But it was enough to break everything.
Clara didn’t respond immediately.
Her hands tightened.
She wanted to speak.
To refuse.
To fight.
But another voice was louder.
There’s nowhere else for you to go.
Clara lowered her gaze.
“Okay.”
One word.
And in that moment—
something inside her truly collapsed.
Not because they forced her.
But because—
She no longer had the strength to resist.
- Writer
