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.
