Priya had once believed in love. When Rahul had first courted her, he was everything she dreamed of—attentive, passionate, and fiercely protective. But after their wedding, his protectiveness became suffocating.
"Where were you?" Rahul’s voice was sharp as Priya entered their apartment, ten minutes later than usual.
"The metro was delayed, I texted you—"
Before she could finish, his hand struck her cheek. The force sent her stumbling back. Tears welled up, but she bit her lip, refusing to cry.
"You’re lying," he hissed. "I called your office. They said you left on time."
Priya’s heart pounded. She had left on time—but she had stopped to buy medicine for his mother. She opened her bag, hands shaking, and pulled out the painkillers.
"Maa has been complaining about her headache, so I—"
"Don’t use Maa as an excuse!" he snapped, snatching the pills from her.
Just then, Mrs. Kapoor walked in, her sharp eyes flickering between them. "What’s going on?"
"Nothing, Maa," Rahul said smoothly, his anger vanishing in an instant. "Priya was just careless again."
Mrs. Kapoor sighed. "Beta, you must be firmer with her. A wife who doesn’t listen brings shame to the family."
Priya stood there, her cheek burning, her heart breaking.
*******
The abuse escalated. If dinner was too salty, Rahul would throw the plate. If Priya spoke to a male colleague, he’d accuse her of cheating. His mother always took his side, whispering that Priya was "too modern" and needed to "learn her place."
One night, after a particularly brutal argument, Priya locked herself in the bathroom, clutching her bruised ribs. She stared at her reflection—dark circles, a split lip, eyes dull with fear.
"This isn’t love," she whispered.
But where could she go? Her parents had passed away, and her friends had slowly been cut off by Rahul. She was alone.
*******
The final straw came when Rahul hit her in front of his mother—not a slap, but a closed fist. Priya fell, her head hitting the edge of the table. Blood trickled down her temple.
Mrs. Kapoor gasped—not in concern for Priya, but in fear of scandal. "Rahul! What if the neighbors hear?"
Priya saw it then—the flicker of fear in Rahul’s eyes. Not remorse, but fear of consequences.
That night, while they slept, she packed a small bag. With trembling hands, she called a women’s helpline she had secretly saved in her phone.
"I need help," she whispered.
*******
It took months of hiding in a shelter, legal battles, and therapy, but Priya rebuilt her life. She found a job, reconnected with old friends, and slowly learned to trust again.
One day, she saw Rahul’s mother at a market. Mrs. Kapoor looked older, her face lined with bitterness. She glared at Priya but said nothing.
Priya held her head high and walked away—free, at last.
The End.