By morning, a few relatives had arrived to visit. My mother handed Anita a thousand rupees.

“Go to the market,” she ordered. “Buy food and cook for our guests.”

I saw the fatigue on Anita’s face. I opened my mouth to speak, but my mother snapped at me.

“If you go instead, people will laugh at you! She’s the daughter-in-law; cooking is her job!”

Anita, still lying on the bed, whispered hoarsely:

“I was awake all night taking care of your grandson. These guests are yours, not mine. I’m your daughter-in-law, not your servant.”

My mother’s eyes widened. The room went silent.
I felt everyone’s eyes on me—embarrassment burning my face.

Furious, I grabbed Anita’s arm and dragged her to the storeroom.

“This time, I have to be strict,” I said coldly. “You’ll learn to respect your elders.”

No mattress. No blanket. Just a dark, empty room.

The Morning After

When I opened the storeroom door the next morning, Anita was gone.

Panic hit me. I ran to tell my mother. She turned pale and called everyone to search.
A neighbor spoke up:

“I saw her last night. She was crying, dragging her suitcase down the street. I gave her some money for a taxi. She said she was going home—she couldn’t take the way you and your mother treated her anymore. She plans to file for divorce.”

My phone slipped from my hand.

When Anita finally answered my call, her voice was steady and cold.

“I’m at my parents’ house. In a few days, I’ll file for divorce. Our son will stay with me, of course. And the property—half of it is mine.”

My heart pounded. I told my mother, hoping she’d help fix it. But she only scoffed.

“She’s bluffing. She won’t dare.”

But deep down, I knew—this time, Anita wasn’t bluffing.

The Divorce Papers

Three days later, a brown envelope arrived. Inside were official divorce papers, stamped with the court’s seal.

Her reason was written clearly:
“I suffered mental cruelty from my husband and his family. They treated me like a servant, not a human being.”

My hands trembled. I still hoped she would come back.
But she had already moved on.

When my mother heard, she exploded.

“How dare she! Divorce brings shame to both families! Forget her—she’ll regret it and come crawling back!”

But I wasn’t angry. I was terrified.
If we divorced, I would lose my son. The law said children under three must stay with their mother.

The Weight of Judgment

News spread quickly through our extended family.
Some scolded me.

“Raj, you’ve lost your mind. She just had a baby, and you threw her into a storeroom? That’s cruel.”

Others whispered behind my back.

“The Kapoor family is infamous for mistreating their daughters-in-law. Who will marry into them now?”

Each word cut deeper than the last. I couldn’t defend myself. I knew they were right.

A Father’s Longing

That night, I called Anita secretly.
She answered, and I saw our son sleeping peacefully in her lap. My chest tightened.

“Anita,” I whispered, “please… at least let me see him. I miss him so much.”

She looked at me, her expression frozen.

“Now you remember your son? What about me—the woman you locked away like I was nothing? Raj, it’s too late. I’m not coming back.”

Her words shattered me. Tears filled my eyes, but she hung up before I could reply.

Regret Too Late

In the days that followed, I wandered through the house like a ghost. I couldn’t work. I couldn’t eat.
Every night, I dreamed of Anita walking away with our son while I ran after them, shouting her name.

Only then did I understand the truth:
I had failed her. I had failed the woman who left everything behind for me, who promised to care for my family, who only wanted respect in return.

Now, the cost of my silence was losing both her and our child.

The Breaking Point

One morning, my aunt placed her hand on my shoulder.

“Raj,” she said gently, “when a woman decides to divorce, it’s hard to change her mind. You have two choices—accept it or humble yourself and ask for forgiveness. But remember, this isn’t just between you two anymore. It’s about the family’s honor.”

I nodded quietly. The pressure from my mother, my relatives, and society felt like chains around my neck.

But none of it mattered compared to the emptiness I felt inside—the silence where my son’s laughter used to be.

That night, I stood alone in the courtyard, staring at the stars. My heart was heavy, my thoughts restless.

I knew I was standing at a crossroads.
Either I would lose everything…
Or, for the first time in my life, I would have to stand up to my mother—and fight for the family I had destroyed myself.