A 70-Year-Old Father Kicked Out of His Home by His Son in the Middle of the Night; Three Days Later, He Returns, Terrifying His Son
Mr. Prakash was 70 years old, an age when he should have been enjoying his old age with his children and grandchildren. But life wasn’t as he wished. His only son, Rohan, had changed significantly after getting married. From a well-behaved child, Rohan had become pragmatic, valuing money more than family ties. That evening, dinner was as usual. Despite his age and frailty, Mr. Prakash tried to help his son clean up. As he carried out the dal (a type of Vietnamese dessert), his hands trembled, and he accidentally dropped and shattered a porcelain thali (a small bowl).

“Crash!”

The loud shattering sound echoed through the house in the Mumbai neighborhood. Rohan, sitting on his diwan (a small tablecloth), frowned, his voice full of annoyance:

“Dad, you’re old and clumsy, you’re only bothering me!”

Mr. Prakash bowed his head, silently picking up the broken pieces of porcelain. But Rohan wouldn’t let it go. His anger flared up:

“Father, leave tomorrow! You’re just a nuisance here!”

The house fell silent. Rohan’s wife, Deepa, who didn’t particularly like her father-in-law, glanced at her husband before going into her room as if it had nothing to do with her.

Mr. Prakash looked up at his son, his aged eyes filled with hurt. He didn’t argue, but silently went to his room, packed a few old kurtas, and left the house in the dark night. Outside, the cold wind from the Arabian Sea blew in, biting at his skin. He left, not knowing where he was going, and no one cared.

The neighborhood buzzed with the news of Mr. Prakash’s expulsion. Neighbor Meera shook her head:

“Poor man, after all these years raising his son, he’s now abandoned by his own flesh and blood!”

“Beta hi, par dhan hi sab kuch nahi hota!” – Mr. Gupta sighed.

But no matter what anyone said, Rohan calmly lived in his spacious apartment, unconcerned about his father’s whereabouts. Three days passed. A heavy rainstorm came from the sea. People began to worry about Mr. Prakash. No one had seen him. On the afternoon of the third day, as the rain stopped, a luxurious Mercedes pulled up in front of the gate. Mr. Prakash stepped out of the car, but this time he wasn’t alone…

Beside him was…a middle-aged man dressed in a smart bandhgala, carrying a briefcase. The entire society gathered around out of curiosity.

Rohan opened the door and, seeing his father, angrily exclaimed:

“Pitaji, what are you doing back here?”

Before Mr. Prakash could answer, the man spoke:

“Are you Rohan? I am lawyer Aditya Sharma, representing Mr. Prakash. We have an important matter to discuss.”

Rohan was stunned. A lawyer? An important matter?

Mr. Prakash looked at his son, his eyes no longer filled with sadness but strangely calm. He said slowly,

“For the past three days, I haven’t been wandering around as you think. I went back to my hometown in Pune, met an old friend – who’s also my private lawyer… and discovered something interesting.”

Rohan frowned, the neighbors listening curiously.

“I still have a large piece of land in Nariman Point that I’ve never mentioned before. Its current value is over 50 crore rupees.”

The whole neighborhood gasped in astonishment. Rohan turned pale, unable to believe his ears.

The lawyer handed him a stack of papers:

“This is the patta and the new will that Mr. Prakash signed this morning. He decided not to leave anything to you anymore.”

Rohan stood there dumbfounded.

“Dad… what did you say?”

Mr. Prakash looked at his son, his voice slow but firm:

“I intended to leave everything to you before. But after the night you chased me away, I changed my mind.”

Rohan stammered:

“Pitaji… mujhe maaf kardo!” Main galat tha!

But Mr. Prakash only shook his head.

All the assets would be donated to Ashray – a bal ashram. At least the orphaned children would learn to love and appreciate their caregivers.

After completing the procedures, Mr. Prakash did not return to his old apartment. He moved to Shanti Niketan – one of Mumbai’s most luxurious nursing homes, where he shared the joys of old age with his fellow elderly friends.

Rohan, however, was different. Without his inheritance, he lived in regret. Deepa – who had only stayed with him for material gain – quickly packed her belongings and left. The spacious apartment suddenly became eerily cold.

Every time he saw the empty charpai where his father used to sit, Rohan’s heart ached. But it was all too late. Some mistakes can be corrected, but some mistakes lead to lifelong regret.