Leaving the court, my ex-mother-in-law pointed at me and said, “From now on, whether you and your children live or die, it has nothing to do with my family.” I silently carried my 3-year-old child away, and 10 years later, she passed away without being able to close her eyes.

Leaving the court, my ex-mother-in-law pointed at me and said, “From now on, whether you and your children live or die, it has nothing to do with our family.” I silently carried my 3-year-old daughter away. Ten years later, she passed away without being able to close her eyes.

Rahul and I got married when I was twenty-five. I was a primary school teacher, and he was an engineer working for a private company in Pune. On our wedding day, I was sure I was the happiest woman – he held my hand and said, “No matter how difficult life is, I only need you and the children.”

But my happiness was short-lived. When I gave birth to my first daughter, my mother-in-law, Meera, frowned: “This family line is considered extinct. What kind of woman can only give birth to daughters, who will continue the family line?”

I forced a smile, holding my child in my arms. The baby was rosy and adorable, my flesh and blood, how could she say that? From that day on, her attitude changed completely: everything I did was not pleasing to her eyes. Cooking, she criticized; cleaning, she said it was slow; taking care of the child, she scolded “only one daughter and you can’t even take care of her.”

Rahul – my husband – became increasingly indifferent. He went out early and came home late, holding his phone and smiling to himself, even when I asked, he only replied “it’s work.” Until one day, I found a text message on his phone: “Honey, our son is kicking too hard!” I was stunned. He had someone else. She was still pregnant. When I brought this up, he coldly replied: “She is the one who understands me, unlike you – who only knows how to cook and raise children.” That sentence was like a sledgehammer hitting my heart. My mother-in-law smiled coldly and added:

“There, you see? All Indian men want a son to continue the family line. She is about to have a son, you have to be considerate and take care of both mother and child.”

“What did you say, Mom?” – I was stunned.

“Mom is telling the truth. She is pregnant, she doesn’t know anything, you take her home and take care of her. After all, you are the ex-wife, the new wife is in the same house, saving money!”

I felt like I was doused with boiling water. I had never felt my self-esteem so crushed. But when I looked at my little daughter Priya sleeping soundly, her eyelids trembling, I knew I couldn’t stay any longer. I filed for divorce.

On the day of the trial, my mother-in-law, still with a contemptuous tone, stood up in front of me and said clearly each word: “From now on, no matter what happens to you and your mother, don’t let my family know. We don’t care anymore.”

Ten years later.
Life is not easy. I teach and take on an interior design job at night to support my children.
I am not a genius. I am just a mother with no way back.

After 10 years, I have gone from being a primary school teacher to the director of a famous architecture and interior design training center in Bangalore.
My daughter – Priya – is 13 years old this year, a good student, kind and always says:
“Mom is my hero.”
That sentence soothed all my wounds.

As for my ex-husband’s family… their fate took a different turn.
Rahul divorced his lover after only 2 years.
The son he was so proud to wait for… turned out to not be his biological son.
After that incident, he collapsed, his business plummeted, and he was in debt.
His mother-in-law, Meera, was seriously ill.
For many years, she lived alone in Pune.
Almost no one in her family wanted to visit her because of her cruel temper.
The house that once drove me away is now old and cold.

The irony of fate is:
She suffered a brain hemorrhage and needed urgent surgery, but the hospital required a relative to sign a consent form.

My ex-husband, Rahul, had disappeared because of a lawsuit.

Without anyone signing, the hospital could only keep her in the emergency room and could not perform surgery.

She lay there, gasping for breath, half-conscious, calling out my name…
me.

That afternoon, while I was instructing students at the center in Bangalore, a middle-aged man rushed over:
“You… are you Priya’s mother? I am a neighbor of Mrs. Meera – your ex-mother-in-law. Please… she is about to die. She only called your name. The hospital said that no one else can sign except you!”

I stood still.

What responsibility do I have to the woman who once kicked me out of the house?
Who wanted me to take care of her son’s lover?
Who looked at me and my mother and said “life and death are not related”?

No.
I no longer have any obligations.

But my daughter stood behind me, gently pulling my shirt:
“Mom… if she calls your name… she will surely regret it. Go away… I don’t want you to be burdened.”

I looked down at her.
Priya… is truly the light of my life

I arrived at the hospital.

The last moment.
Mrs. Meera lay on the bed, her face pale, her eyes searching.
When she saw me, she burst into tears, her voice trembling:
“You… you’re here… Mom… I was wrong… That day… I was too much… I know my mistake… But… I’m about to leave… but Rahul… he didn’t come… Who… who will perform the last rites for me…?”

I stood by the bed.
No crying.
No resentment.
Just feeling… everything had turned to ashes.

I gently replied:
“Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll take care of everything.”

She held my hand, trembling.
At that moment, she let out a sigh – as if she had just let go of the heaviest burden in her life.
Then… she closed her eyes, never to open them again.

The entire emergency room was silent.
The nurse turned to whisper:
“You’re in time. She’s been waiting for you for hours. You’re probably the last thing she wants to see.”

I bowed my head and placed a white towel on her face.

Not because I still love her.

But because I don’t want to carry hatred for another minute in my life.

I made her “die with her eyes open” – in the true sense of the word she sowed.

It’s not because I took revenge.
It’s not because I did anything to make her suffer.
But because for 10 years, she always regretted it.
She always tried to see me and my mother again, but didn’t dare.
She always worried about the words she said.
She lived in torment until her last breath.

I didn’t take revenge.
I just lived a kinder, stronger, and more successful life than anyone ever thought of me.
That’s what made her die with regret, with remorse, with her eyes open.

Not because I was cruel.
But because her conscience would not forgive her.

As we walked out of the hospital gate, my daughter held my hand tightly:
“Mom, you did the right thing.”

“Um… I know.”

I looked up at the blue Bangalore sky, the gentle breeze.
After 10 years, I finally closed the past – as calm as if there had never been a wound