The apartment had become noticeably quieter after Vijayalakshmi and Meenakshi left.
The laughter, conversations and small household sounds had disappeared.
Only silence remained.
Sathyamoorthy prepared two cups of coffee and placed one on the table in front of Lakshmi Rajyam.
She accepted it with a gentle smile.
Thank you.
For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.
Both were lost in their own thoughts.
Finally, Sathyamoorthy broke the silence.
Yesterday, you said the happiest day of your life was when your son was born.
You never told me about him.
Lakshmi looked at the cup in her hands.
A faint smile appeared, but it carried sadness.
Satyanarayana.
My son.
He is the one person who never asked me whether I was a politician.
To him...
I was just Amma.
She looked out of the window.
When he was born, I promised myself that no matter how busy politics became, I would always be present in his life.
She let out a quiet breath.
I couldn't keep that promise.
Sathyamoorthy listened without interrupting.
When my marriage ended, the court gave his father primary custody.
It was the most stable option for him at that time.
I agreed.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I believed it was the right decision.
Her voice remained calm, but every word carried years of pain.
He moved to Los Angeles with his father.
I remained here.
Serving people who called me their leader...
while my own son was growing up thousands of kilometres away.
She smiled bitterly.
People praised my sacrifices.
No one asked what those sacrifices actually were.
Sathyamoorthy quietly placed the coffee cup down.
Did he hate you?
Lakshmi immediately shook her head.
No.
That was the hardest part.
He never hated me.
She reached into her handbag and removed a slightly worn photograph.
She handed it to Sathyamoorthy.
It showed a younger Satyanarayana standing beside her during one of his childhood visits to India.
Both were smiling.
He used to count the days until I visited.
Every airport farewell ended the same way.
He would hug me tightly...
and ask when I was coming back.
Her voice grew softer.
I never had an answer.
Sathyamoorthy returned the photograph carefully.
As he grew older...
our conversations became video calls.
Birthdays became phone calls.
School functions became photographs sent by someone else.
She looked down.
I watched my own son grow up through a screen.
The room fell silent.
He never complained.
That made it even harder.
He understood more than a child should.
Sometimes he would tell me...
Amma, finish your work first.
We'll spend time together later.
Lakshmi smiled sadly.
Children shouldn't have to comfort their parents.
Sathyamoorthy looked at her.
When was the last time you met him?
Almost a year ago.
After his school graduation.
Just for two days.
Then I returned to India.
He returned to his studies.
She closed her eyes briefly.
Two days.
A mother waiting months...
for forty-eight hours with her son.
Sathyamoorthy understood why bringing Satyanarayana back had become so important to her.
It wasn't just a reunion.
It was recovering years that could never truly be recovered.
Lakshmi continued.
He never asked me to leave politics.
He only asked one thing.
What was it?
Whenever you come...
don't spend the whole time answering phone calls.
Be my Amma for one day.
The sentence broke the silence inside the room.
Lakshmi looked away, hiding the moisture gathering in her eyes.
I tried.
But even then...
calls kept coming.
Meetings couldn't wait.
Files couldn't wait.
Emergencies couldn't wait.
She smiled weakly.
Life waited.
Family waited.
He waited.
Sathyamoorthy spoke quietly.
And now?
Now...
I don't know whether he needs a Chief Minister...
or simply his mother.
Another long silence followed.
Sathyamoorthy looked at her with quiet understanding.
One day...
when all of this ends...
don't go back to work immediately.
Spend time with him.
Without meetings.
Without security officers.
Without politics.
Lakshmi smiled for the first time that day.
A genuine smile.
That is exactly what I promised myself.
When this storm ends...
the first journey I make...
will not be to a public meeting.
It will be to my son.
Outside, Chennai carried on with another ordinary afternoon.
Inside the apartment, the conversation had revealed something politics could never measure.
A mother's greatest achievement was never the office she held.
It was the child she hoped would still recognize her... after years of absence.