10 years of marriage, 4 miscarriages and a bitter scolding from my mother-in-law: “If you can’t give birth, then get out of here. Are you going to stay here and depend on my family? My child will get a new wife, I can’t let you ruin this family.”
Ravi and I have been married for a full ten years. Ten years – it sounds long, but for me, it was ten years of tears, ten years of suffering, and ten years of waiting for something that God definitely wouldn’t give me – a child.

I had four miscarriages. Each time felt like a knife cutting deep into my heart. I still remember the fourth time, when I held my stomach, blood soaked my sari, Ravi didn’t cry like the previous times. He just stood there, his eyes blank, then turned away to smoke. From that day on, an invisible distance formed between us – cold, suffocating to the point of suffocation.

My mother-in-law – Mrs. Meera – never liked me. From the day I became a daughter-in-law, she hinted:

“Women must know how to give birth. If they can’t give birth, they’re considered useless.”

I endured because I loved Ravi. I believed that as long as we loved each other, all the storms would pass. But I was wrong.

One evening, after I had just returned from the doctor’s visit – the doctor said the possibility of conceiving naturally was almost gone – my mother-in-law was waiting for me at the door. Her voice was as cold as ice:

“How long are you planning to stay here? Are you going to depend on this house until you die? My child is still young, he needs someone to give birth to a grandchild for him, not you. If he can’t give birth, then get lost. If you stay here, you’re going to be a nuisance to my family. My child will get married again, I can’t let you ruin this family!”

I was stunned. The hands holding the medicine bag trembled slightly. I looked at Ravi, he sat silently, not a word of protest.

I asked quietly:

“What do you think?”

Ravi looked at me, his voice hoarse:

“You heard it too. Mom was right. We’ve been trying for 10 years. I… want a baby.”

I burst out laughing, tears streaming down my face like a broken dam:

“We’ve been together for ten years, and now you’re telling me this?”

He was silent. That silence was more cruel than any words. That night we had our last night together. The next day, I packed my things, didn’t take a penny, and only took the wedding photo. When I walked out of that house, the sound of the iron door closing behind me – a harsh sound like the end of my ten-year marriage…. I took the night bus back to my mother’s hometown in Jaipur. The cold wind blew in my face, and my heart became colder. More than a month later, exhausted, I fainted. When I woke up, the doctor placed the ultrasound results in front of me:

“Congratulations. You’re more than 4 weeks pregnant.”

I was speechless. My whole body was numb. I was pregnant — after four miscarriages, after years of being tormented by the word infertility, after being kicked out of my husband’s house. Was that last night a miracle???

I burst into tears, both happy and sad. I had wished for this child so much, but now, the child had come at the most unexpected time. I held the ultrasound paper, looked at that tiny dot — my blood. The blood I had begged heaven and earth to have, and now it had come when everything was in ruins.

Giving Birth and Determined to Protect

I didn’t tell Ravi. I didn’t want him to know. I didn’t want his mother to know. This child wasn’t for them to pity or fight over. It was mine, mine alone.

I gave birth on a rainy morning in Jaipur. A boy, fair-skinned, with curly hair like Ravi. When the doctor placed the baby on my chest, I burst into tears:

“Hello, baby. I’m sorry for leaving you in this world alone, but I promise, I will love you as much as my father.”

I named him Aarav — meaning peace
A year later, I heard that Ravi was getting married. The girl was seven years younger than me, a secretary in his company. My mother-in-law was overjoyed, and his relatives said, “their family is about to have a grandchild.” I smiled faintly. People were happy for them, but I only felt empty inside.

On the wedding day, I didn’t plan to go. But that morning, a strange urge made me unconsciously go to the church where they held the ceremony. I stood hidden behind the trees, looking at Ravi in ​​a black suit, his face radiant, the kind I hadn’t seen in ten years.

I thought I was calm. But when the bell rang and they exchanged rings, my heart shattered. I turned to leave when I suddenly heard a scream:

“The bride fainted!”

The crowd was in an uproar. I turned around – the bride was lying flat on her back, her face pale. Ravi panicked and picked her up. I held Aarav from a distance. A strange premonition appeared in my head…

A few weeks later, the news spread everywhere: Ravi’s new wife was infertile. My mother-in-law fainted from shock, and Ravi neglected his work and went everywhere to find a doctor.

Then one day, they found out I had a child. Perhaps because the neighbors saw me taking Aarav to school. That afternoon, I had just picked up my child when I saw Ravi and his mother standing in front of the door of the rented room.

His mother looked at the child, her face pale, trembling as she asked:

“Is it… Ravi’s child?”

Ravi stared at Aarav, his eyes trembling, his voice hoarse:

“It’s your child, right? You… you noticed that its eyes… are exactly like your mother’s.”

I hugged Aarav tightly, calmly replying:

“No. It’s not your blood.”

Both of us were stunned. His mother shouted:

“You’re lying! You can tell by looking! It’s exactly like my child!”

I looked straight at her, each word like a knife cutting:

“Your blood was never worth me begging or proving. The day I was kicked out, this blood was just a seed in my womb. You called me a useless person, told me to get lost, then I’m sorry, I left – and from then on, this blood has nothing to do with that family anymore.