Mr. Raghav – sixty years old – had spent his entire life in a poor village in Uttar Pradesh, working in the fields year-round and striving to give his three children a good education.
His youngest daughter, Anika, was his greatest pride. She was obedient, intelligent, beautiful, and well-mannered.
Years earlier, Anika had passed the university entrance exam and secured a job as an accountant at a major company in New Delhi. There, she met and fell in love with Arjun – a city boy from a wealthy family whose parents owned a successful business. When they announced their marriage, Mr. Raghav’s face revealed his worry.
– “They’re so rich, will they truly value our child?” – he often said to his wife.
But Anika would smile gently, holding her father’s hand:
– “Father, Arjun’s family has wealth, but he is kind and genuine. Please trust me. I will live happily as your daughter-in-law.”
Out of love for her, Mr. Raghav saved for years and sold part of his farmland to host a proper wedding. The groom’s family arranged a lavish ceremony at a luxury hotel in New Delhi, like something from a Bollywood film.
When they sent Anika to her husband’s home, they cried yet still said:
– “Even if life is hard, endure it as long as you love each other. Everything will pass.”
After marriage, Anika seldom returned to the village. Sometimes she claimed to be busy at work, other times she said visiting was inconvenient. Whenever he called, Mr. Raghav asked:
– “Are you okay? I’m worried about you.”
Anika always replied:
– “I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry.”
One day, Mr. Raghav and his wife, Mrs. Savitri, decided to visit her in New Delhi unannounced. They brought along home-raised chickens, fresh vegetables, and jars of pickles made by Mrs. Savitri – gifts of their love.
When the taxi stopped before a grand three-storey mansion in Gurgaon, they were stunned.
The gate opened automatically, and a maid greeted them. Mr. Raghav smiled faintly:
– “Our child must be happy living here…”
But the moment he entered, his smile faded.
Anika descended the stairs, her face pale. She rushed forward:
– “Mom, Dad… why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
– “We missed you and wanted to see you,” they shared.
A sharp voice cut in:
– “Do villagers even know the way here?”
It was Mrs. Meera – Anika’s mother-in-law – in an elegant silk sari, hair neatly tied, holding a wine glass. Her eyes swept over them with open disdain.
– “Why bring chickens and vegetables? We have no shortage of such things,” she shouted.
Anika grabbed her hand:
– “Maa… please don’t speak like this before my parents…”
But Mrs. Meera’s tone grew harsher:
– “Marrying my son doesn’t mean you can bring rural folk into this home. Know your place and don’t shame us!”
Mr. Raghav’s cheeks burned. Mrs. Savitri stood frozen. Anika bowed her head, trembling.
Choking back emotion, Mr. Raghav said:
– “Since when has my daughter lived under such contempt? She told me she was fine, happy. Is this happiness?”
He grabbed Anika’s hand firmly, tears in his eyes:
– “Come home with me. I won’t let you suffer here.”
– “But Dad…”
– “We may not have wealth or mansions, but no one in our family will treat you like a servant. I can’t bear this.”
Anika broke into sobs and embraced him. Mrs. Meera tried to intervene, but he stood firm:
– “From today, she is no longer your daughter-in-law. She is my daughter, and I’m taking her home.”
With only a small bag of clothes, Anika left silently with her parents. In the taxi, Mr. Raghav held her hand:
– “Don’t be sorry. I just want you to live with dignity, not pretense.”
That day, Anika abandoned a mansion and a loveless marriage, returning to a place of true affection – her parents’ home, where hearts were sincere and love was real.
