My mother-in-law suddenly handed me ₹20 lakhs and urged me to travel abroad to relax. But the day I left for the airport, I turned back unexpectedly—and uncovered a terrifying truth…
I’ve been married to Hitesh for five years. Like any marriage, ours had its rough patches, but I always felt fortunate to have a gentle mother-in-law. Mrs. Sarla rarely meddled, spoke softly, and usually offered kind advice.
Recently, I’d been exhausted-burnt out from work, low in spirit, and neglected by Hitesh, who was buried in his own commitments. One afternoon, Sarla called me into the living room of our house in Gurugram. She slid a thick envelope across the table.
“Take this,” she said calmly.
“Here’s ₹20 lakh. Fly to Europe, unwind for a few weeks, then come back refreshed.”
I froze. Never before had she offered me such a large sum—or suggested a holiday. At first, I was touched, thinking she truly cared. But suspicion crept in: why was she so eager to send me away right now?
Still, I accepted. I packed my bags, booked a ticket to IGI Airport’s Terminal 3. Hitesh didn’t resist-he simply said, “Go clear your head. Mom will look after things here.”
That statement unsettled me even more.
On departure day, Sarla herself drove me to the airport, showering me with instructions. I hugged her goodbye with a forced smile, but inside, doubts churned. At the last moment, I decided: I wouldn’t leave. I’d fake the trip, then return quietly to see what truly occured in my absence.
I slipped into a cab back toward DLF Phase 3, got off a short distance from home, and walked the rest of the way. As I neared the gate, I heard loud laughter. The door was ajar. My chest tightened.
Peering inside, I was shattered: Hitesh sat in the living room beside a young woman—dressed brightly, hair tied neatly, leaning on his shoulder, laughing with him. And Sarla? She was serving food, smiling, saying warmly:
“Now that the daughter-in-law is gone, you can finally rest. I just want someone who’ll care for Hitesh. This Riya is such a nice girl—I really like her.”
My ears rang. The whole “vacation” was a ploy—to push me out and bring another woman in. That ₹20 lakh wasn’t generosity, it was hush money.
That night, I didn’t return home. Instead, I rented a modest room in Karol Bagh, tossing all night in pain. But by morning, I resolved: silence would only trap me forever.
I met a lawyer in Saket—Arjun Malhotra—who calmly explained the process of property division and advised me to secure evidence. I called a friend to help record proof. Everything had to be transparent.
Two weeks later, when they still assumed I was in Europe, I walked into the living room with Arjun and a legal file. All three of them froze. Hitesh stuttered, Sarla looked surprised, and Riya turned her face away.
I placed the divorce papers on the table. “Thank you for the ₹20 lakh,” I said coolly. “I’ll use it to begin a freer, lighter life. From today, I cut all ties with this family.” And I left—no longer as an outcast, but as a woman claiming her own strength.
“Status Quo”
Though I stepped out of that house with determination, my heart carried a heavy stone. The ₹20 lakh sat untouched in a separate account Arjun suggested I open, marking the clean break of old ties.
In Karol Bagh, I rented a tiny top-floor room overlooking a buzzing street of scooters, tea stalls, and frying parathas. At night, the horns never stopped, yet I slept soundly—not in silence, but in peace.
Arjun started working on a “status quo” order—preventing any property or asset transfers until the divorce settled. For the first time, I felt a sense of long-term protection.
To heal myself, I turned my little room into a bakery corner. With a second-hand oven and a short baking course, I opened “Buy N – Fresh Bakes & Tea.” My cakes were modest, but each sale carried a heartbeat of relief.
One morning, I faced Hitesh and Sarla in Saket Family Court. When the judge froze all property dealings, Hitesh’s jaw tightened, Sarla’s face burned with anger. Outside, she hissed:
“You’re cruel. I only wanted Hitesh to be happy. You should’ve just gone away for a while.”
I looked at her steadily. “I needed to breathe too. For five years, you suffocated me.”
Later, I got a strange call from Shiv, Riya’s old roommate. He warned me that Riya was pushing Hitesh to transfer property to her and even had a recording of Sarla plotting against me. It hit me: that ₹20 lakh was their way of buying silence.
I worked harder with Arjun, gathering CCTV footage, phone bills, taxi slips—everything proving the scheme.
Then Sarla herself came to me. At a roadside tea stall, she handed me a velvet pouch of gold, tears in her eyes. She admitted she’d acted out of fear of loneliness, manipulated by Riya, clinging to Hitesh for survival. For the first time, I saw not a mother-in-law, but a frail mother.
When Riya tried to seal a property transfer at a café, court bailiffs stormed in with fraud notices. Riya’s face drained of color. Hitesh frightened. I stood outside, unmoving—but Riya saw me. Our eyes locked, hers flashing like a trapped cat.
Days later, Sarla submitted a letter in court, confessing her part in pushing me out. The judge asked if she understood. She nodded, trembling: “Yes. My daughter-in-law never deserved this.”
I whispered to her, “Thank you, Mom.” For once, she smiled—old, but honest.
Finally, in mediation, Hitesh offered dividends and agreed to my terms. Riya disappeared from Delhi, breaking ties.
The divorce was finalized. Property divided. No debts—except a handwritten apology from Hitesh: “Thank you for leaving with dignity.”
I placed the letter beside my recipe notes—“Saffron pistachio loaf, 180°C, 38 minutes.” My little bakery dream was now growing, supported by neighbors and friends.
One rainy evening, Sarla came for tea. She joked, “Will you ever return the ₹20 lakh?”
I smiled. “I’ll repay you in another way—free tea for life.”
She laughed through her tears. “A fair trade. I got a lifetime of tea.”
And as I poured her a cup, I realized: my next chapter had begun—not with money in an envelope, but with flour-dusted hands, hot chai, and a heart that finally learned to say no.