At first, I thought she’d never dare leave. Her parents’ house is in Lucknow, about 500 kilometers away. In Davao, she doesn’t know anyone but me. She doesn’t even have access to all the money in the house. With that thought, I slept soundly, with a high pillow next to my mother.

My mother, Sharda Devi, has always seen herself as a sacrifice for the family and expected her daughter-in-law to be completely obedient. I thought, “As a son, it’s your duty to take care of your parents. A woman only has to endure a little; what’s wrong with that?”

My wife, Anita, is from another city. We met while studying in Davao. When we talked about marriage, my mother was strongly against it:

“The girl’s family lives far away; it will be tiring to travel back and forth all the time.”

Anita cried, but she was determined:

“Don’t worry, I’ll be your daughter-in-law and take care of your family. I might not be able to visit my parents more than once a year.”

In the end, I begged my mother, and she hesitantly agreed. But from then on, every time I wanted to take my wife and children to my in-law’ ’ house, she found excuses to avoid it.

Conflicts with the Mother-in-Law

When our first child was born, Anita began to change. Differences arose over how to raise him. I thought, “My mother only wants the best for her grandson; what’s wrong with following her advice?”

But Anita refused. Sometimes they even argued over things like giving the child milk or baby food. My mother would get angry, break dishes, and then get sick for a week.

Recently, when we took the baby to my mother’s house, the situation worsened. The child developed a high fever and seizures. My mother blamed Anita:

“Don’t you know how to protect my grandson? How could you let him get sick like that?”

I felt my mother was right. I blamed Anita, and she began to openly show her frustration.

The Fight and the Night at the Warehouse

That night, Anita didn’t sleep, taking care of the child. I, tired from the long journey, went upstairs to sleep with my parents.

The next morning, relatives arrived for a visit. My mother gave Anita 1,000 rupees and asked her to go to the market to buy groceries to prepare food for the guests. I saw my wife was exhausted, but just as I was about to say something, my mother shouted:

“If you go to the market, people make fun of you! I was up all night too, and I’ll be working in the morning. She’s the daughter-in-law; she should be in charge of the kitchen!”

Anita, still lying in bed, replied:

“I was up all night taking care of your grandson. These guests are yours, not mine. I am the daughter-in-law, not a servant.”

My mother and I looked at each other. I felt ashamed in front of the relatives. Enraged, I dragged Anita to the warehouse and forced her to sleep there. No mattress, no blanket.

I told her, “This time I have to be strict, so you don’t argue with your mother-in-law again.”

The Next Morning

The next day, when I opened the warehouse door… Anita was no longer there.

I was scared and ran to my mother to tell her. She was also shocked and immediately called the whole family to look for her. A neighbor said:

“Last night I saw her crying, dragging her suitcase down the street. I gave her some money to take a taxi back to her parents’ house. She said her in-laws treated her like a servant, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. She’s about to get a divorce.”

I was in sh0ck. After a long time, Anita answered my call. Her voice was cold:

“I’m at my parents’ house. In a few days, I’ll file for divorce. Our son is 3 years old; of course he’ll stay with me. The property will be divided in half.”

My heart was pounding. When I told my mother, she said:

“She’s threatening. She won’t dare.”

But I knew Anita wasn’t the same anymore. This time, maybe I had really lost her…

The Divorce Papers

Three days after I returned to Lucknow, Anita sent me a brown envelope. Inside were divorce papers, stamped with the local court’s seal. She clearly wrote the reason:

“I was mentally abused by my husband and his family. They treated me like a servant, with no respect for my dignity.”

My hands trembled as I held the papers. Deep down, I still hoped she would return. But Anita had already made up her mind.

My mother, Sharda Devi, was furious upon hearing this:

“How dare she? A divorced woman is a disgrace to her family! Leave her! She’ll come crawling back!”

But unlike her, I wasn’t angry. I was filled with fear. If we get divorced, I will lose custody of my son. According to Indian law, children under the age of 3 must stay with their mother.

Family and Public Pressure

The news spread quickly among the family in Jaipur. Some blamed me:

“Raj, you were a fool. Your wife just gave birth, and you forced her to sleep in the storeroom. Isn’t that cruel?”

Others said:

“The whole village knows. The Kapoor family is famous for treating their daughters-in-law badly. Who will want to marry into your family in the future?”

I clutched my head, too daring to respond. Every word of criticism pierced me like a knife.

The Pain of Losing a Child

That night, I secretly called Anita. She answered, and on the screen, I saw our son sleeping on her lap. My heart ached at the sight of his little face. I said:

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

She looked at me, her eyes cold:

“Now do you remember your son? And don’t you remember me, who was thrown into the warehouse and treated like a slave? Raj, it’s too late. I won’t come back.”

Tears streamed down my face.

Late Regret

In the days that followed, I became like a body without a soul. I couldn’t concentrate on work. Every night I dreamed that Anita was leaving with our son, and I chased her in vain.

I began to understand: for the past two years, I had only listened to my mother, forcing Anita to endure and remain silent. I hadn’t protected her, I hadn’t taken her side—that woman who had given up everything for me.

Now, the price to pay was losing her and my son.

The Harsh Reality

One morning, my aunt approached me and tapped my shoulder:

“Raj, a word of advice. When a woman files for divorce, it’s hard to change her mind. You only have two options: accept it or grovel and apologize. But remember, this is no longer a personal matter; it now affects the honor of the Kapoor family.”

I sat silently. Pressure from my mother, relatives, and public opinion weighed heavily on my shoulders. But my greatest fear remained the same: never hearing my son call me “Dad” every morning again.

The Climax Approaches

That night, I walked out into the courtyard alone, staring up at the starry sky, my heart heavy with anxiety. I knew I was about to lose everything… or I had to do something I’d never done before: stand up to my mother and fight to get my wife and son back.