My father, Mr. Ramesh, was diagnosed with terminal cancer. The doctor said he needed to be hospitalized immediately for surgery, which would cost about 3 lakh rupees temporarily. Everyone in the family was in a mess. My mother, Mrs. Sunita, was crying all the time, and I, Anjali, had just given birth and had not returned to work, and I did not have a few thousand rupees on me.

I thought about the savings we had after our wedding, which included nearly 6 lakh rupees. I trembled and said to my husband, Arjun:

“Honey, your father is in critical condition. Can we temporarily withdraw 3 lakh rupees for your mother to pay for the hospital bills?”

But he just sighed:

“The money I gave to my mother is in her name. If you want to withdraw it, you can go ask her, I don’t dare.”

“Why did you give our savings to my mother?”

“At that time, my mother told me to keep it for her, afraid that we would take it and spend it all.”

I know my mother-in-law – Mrs. Lalita – is an extremely difficult person, but at this time my father is lying in bed waiting, I have no other choice. I drove the car to her house, my heart trembling.

As soon as I opened my mouth:
– “Mom, my father has cancer, please give me 3 lakh rupees from our savings account to pay for his surgery…”

Before I could finish, Mrs. Lalita glared and shouted:
– “What? There is no way my family can support your family! If your father is sick, doesn’t that family have any children or grandchildren? You can borrow from whoever you want, don’t try to take my son’s money!”

– “That’s the wedding money for both of us, not just my husband.”

She slammed the teapot down on the table, the tea splashed everywhere. I knelt down and begged, my voice choked:
– “Mom, my father is about to die, please have mercy on me…”

But the only response was the sound of the door slamming in front of me.

I sat down on the steps, tears mixed with the rain. Inside, the TV was still playing loudly, and my father was lying in the hospital waiting every minute.

I picked up the phone to call Arjun but he didn’t answer. At this moment, my mother called me, I heard her sobbing:

“It’s too late, my son… Come in now!”

I was stunned and rushed away. Luckily, my father only fainted for a moment and then woke up, but he was very weak, the doctor said that he would take it day by day.

I tried to hold back my tears and returned home, looked at Arjun who was sitting silently, and said only one sentence:

“I don’t need that money anymore. But from today, I am no longer your wife.”

That sentence shocked Arjun. As for me – I hugged my child and left, carrying with me the pain, but also carrying with me the determination to save my family, no longer expecting from others..

Anjali left her husband’s house, her heart heavy but determined. She held her young son, Aryan, in her arms and walked into the crowded and noisy streets of Mumbai. The city was big, bustling and sometimes cruel, but she knew that from now on, only she could protect her son and her small family.

On the first day, Anjali rented a modest room in the Ghatkopar area. The room was small and hot, but at least it could protect the mother and son from the rain and sun. She gathered all her remaining savings, bought a few things for Aryan, and told herself: “From now on, no one will decide my fate but me.”

Thanks to her skillful hands and previous sewing skills, Anjali started taking on jobs sewing clothes and decorating small festivals in the neighborhood. She sewed during the day, took care of her son at night and learned how to manage finances. She spent her first rupees on buying milk, diapers and medicine for Aryan.

Life was not easy. There were days when she had to skip breakfast to pay the rent, nights when she lay beside Aryan, her heart broken by missing her parents and feeling helpless in the face of Mr. Ramesh’s illness. But she did not give up. She sought out independent women’s groups in the neighborhood, learning about business, management, and how to protect women’s rights.

Gradually, Anjali expanded her sewing and festival decoration services. Customers trusted her, placed more orders, and she gradually accumulated enough capital to rent a small shop in the heart of Mumbai’s market. Aryan grew up surrounded by love and the strict but warm teachings of his mother.

One afternoon, watching Aryan play in front of the shop, Anjali smiled. She told herself: “My son will grow up with self-respect, with love from his mother, and know that strength does not lie in money or power given by others, but in his own will and strong heart.”

But Anjali did not only care for herself and her child. She began participating in activities to support other single mothers, sharing her experiences of independence, teaching them how to earn a living and protect their children. Every smile, every small success of the women around her gave Anjali more strength, more belief that women do not need to rely on men to live happily.

Mumbai is vast, sometimes cruel, but Anjali found a place to belong: a small home, where she and Aryan together build a future with their own hands, determination and boundless love.

And when she stood looking at her son smiling innocently, she knew that, despite all the storms, she had conquered fate. Mother and son – together, resilient, and never bowing down to anyone.