Despite knowing I was infertile, the groom’s family still agreed to the marriage. But on the wedding night, when Kevin lifted the blanket, I froze at what I saw…

My name is Anna, 30 years old. Three years ago, after surgery at AIIMS, the doctors told me I could never conceive. The news shattered me. My boyfriend of five years, John, stayed silent that night, and the next morning, sent a single message:
“I’m sorry. Let’s end this.”

Since then, I buried every dream of marriage. Until Kevin appeared.

Kevin, seven years older, had just become branch manager at my office. He was composed, kind, with eyes that seemed to smile. Though I admired him, I kept my distance. How could someone like him choose a woman like me?

But he was the one who reached out. On late nights, he brought me home-cooked meals. On chilly mornings, he left ginger tea on my desk. Slowly, my walls crumbled.

When he proposed, I confessed my condition through tears. He only smiled, patted my head and whispered:
“I know. Don’t worry.”

Even his family welcomed me. His mother, Sarah, personally came to ask for my hand.

For the first time in years, I felt blessed.

On our wedding day, dressed in a red lehenga, I held Kevin’s hand beneath the soft glow of the shehnai. Tears blurred my vision as his gentle eyes locked with mine.

That night, as I removed the pins from my hair, Kevin slipped off his sherwani and came to stand behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“Are you tired?” he asked softly.

I nodded, my pulse racing.