A Night of Pride and Blindness

I never believed she would actually leave.
Her parents’ home was five hundred kilometers away, and in Davao, she had no one but me. I told myself she wouldn’t dare go anywhere—she didn’t even have access to our savings.

So that night, I went to bed feeling self-satisfied, resting my head on a tall pillow beside my mother.

My mother, Sharda Devi, had always seen herself as the ultimate martyr of our family. She expected my wife to be silent, obedient, and endlessly grateful.
And I — the so-called dutiful son — went along with it.

A wife should just endure a little for the sake of family, I used to tell myself. What’s wrong with that?

The Beginning of Tension

My wife, Anita, was from another city. We met back in college in Davao.

When we first talked about marriage, my mother was furious.
“Her family lives too far away,” she said. “It’ll be a burden to visit all the time.”

Anita cried that day but stayed firm.
“Don’t worry,” she told me softly. “I’ll be a good daughter-in-law. I’ll take care of your family, even if I can only visit mine once a year.”

Eventually, after endless pleading, my mother agreed — but she never forgot that Anita wasn’t from our town.
Every time I tried to take my wife and our son to visit her parents, my mother would invent an excuse to stop us.

When the Baby Came

After our first child was born, everything changed.
Every little thing turned into an argument.

I always sided with my mother. “She only wants the best for her grandson,” I said. “Why can’t Anita just listen to her?”

But Anita refused to stay silent. They fought over everything — from what milk to feed the baby to when he should sleep.
My mother would scream, slam plates, then pretend to fall ill for days.

The final straw came during a family visit.
Our baby caught a high fever, and my mother pointed at Anita.
“You can’t even take care of my grandson properly? How could you let this happen?”

I agreed with my mother that day. Anita looked at me, her eyes full of pain.

The Argument That Broke Everything

That night, Anita didn’t sleep. She stayed up nursing our sick child.
Exhausted, I went upstairs to rest beside my parents.

By morning, a few relatives had come 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,
“If you go instead, people will laugh at you! She’s the daughter-in-law; cooking is her job!”

Anita, still sitting 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 dead silent.
I felt everyone’s gaze on me — embarrassment burning my face.

In anger, 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 ordered everyone to search.

A neighbor spoke up,
“I saw her last night. She was crying, dragging a 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 calm but 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 return.

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 the divorce went through, I would lose my son — and under the law, children under three always stay with their mother.

The Weight of Judgment

News spread fast through our relatives.

Some scolded me,
“Raj, have you 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 notorious 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. 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 straight at me, her face expressionless.
“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 blurred my eyes, but she hung up before I could reply.

Regret Too Late

The days that followed were empty. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t work.
Every night, I dreamed of Anita walking away with our son while I ran after them, calling her name.

That’s when the truth finally hit me:
I had failed her — the woman who left everything behind for me, who promised to care for my family, who asked only for respect in return.

The price 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 softly, “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 about 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 tightening around my neck.

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

That night, I stood alone in the courtyard, staring up 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 with my own hands.