I’ll never forget that night—the night my in-laws kicked me out with my newborn son. The cold cut through my nightgown, the darkness pressed down, and Aarav’s tiny cries echoed against my chest. I thought my life was over. But I was wrong. That night didn’t break me—it set the stage for a comeback they’d regret more than they could imagine.
My name is Hera. I married Kiran Patel at 25, fresh out of college, head over heels in love. Kiran was charming, patient, everything I dreamed of—so I thought. His family? Strict, controlling, and impossible to please. From day one, I wasn’t a daughter-in-law—I was unpaid help, expected to follow rules I’d never agreed to.
I tried to adjust. I told myself it was temporary. But pregnancy only made things worse. Nothing I did was enough. Not how I ate, not how I dressed, not even how I reacted. I swallowed the criticism, thinking a baby would soften their hearts.
I was wrong.
Aarav’s arrival brought joy I had never known. Every sleepless night and tear felt worth it. But to my in-laws, he was just another thing to control. They dictated everything—how I held him, what I fed him, when I could sleep. Kiran tried to mediate, but slowly he started folding under their pressure.
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