Before we could consummate our marriage, my husband had already carried his pillow to the next room to sleep. I was shocked to learn why a poor girl like me was worth 6 lakh rupees…
On our wedding night, the room was filled with the scent of roses and warm yellow lights at a luxury hotel in Pune. Meena – I sat on the bed, my heart pounding, anxiously waiting for Arvind – my newlywed husband, the one I thought would be my lifelong partner from now on.

Arvind walked in, but did not approach me. He only glanced at me for a moment, his eyes cold, then calmly carried his pillow and walked out of the room. I choked up and asked:
– Where are you going?

He did not turn his head:
– To sleep in my mother’s room. Since childhood, my mother has not been able to sleep alone.

The door closed, the sound of the lock on my mother’s room echoed dryly on our wedding night. I sat there, stunned. Outside, the voice of the husband’s family still rang out:
“The son is so good, with such filial piety, the mother can rest assured. There are many women, only the mother is the only one.”

I bit my lip until it bled. I suddenly understood why this wedding happened so quickly, to the point that I had not had time to prepare anything. Why a country girl like me was suddenly married into a rich family… with a dowry of 6 lakh rupees

It was not because they loved me. But because they needed a “legal pregnancy”. Three months ago, Arvind got drunk and spent the night with me. When he found out I was pregnant, he coldly pushed the money, telling me to take care of it myself. I did not do it. I just kept the baby in silence.

When his mother – Mrs. Lalita – found out, she did not get angry, she only said one sentence:
“Okay, the girl is good, no demands. Marry her, as long as she does not bother me and my child.”

6 lakh rupees as a dowry – in return for the title of “daughter-in-law”, but not “wife”.

They married me… not to love, but to legitimize a child, to preserve the family’s honor, and to let Arvind sleep next to his mother like when he was a child.

I looked down at my belly – where the little creature was growing day by day – and I understood: This was not my home.

The next morning, I did not cry. I packed my clothes in a suitcase, took off the cold wedding ring from my hand.

Mrs. Lalita raised her head, sneered:
– “Be angry, but don’t forget… you are carrying the eldest grandson of this family.”

I calmly replied:
– “My child is born, whose surname… is my right.”

The whole family was silent. I dragged my suitcase and walked away, my heart still aching, but I no longer bowed my head. Because I know, a woman can be without a husband… but once she has a child and self-respect, she doesn’t need anyone to bestow love

Meena left her husband’s house and entered the bustling streets of Mumbai with an old suitcase, her heart aching and determined. She knew that from now on, no one could protect her except herself and the little creature in her womb.

The first days were difficult. Renting a small room in the Dharavi area, a cramped and hot place, Meena took care of herself and prepared mentally for the upcoming birth. The dowry money of 6 lakh rupees was carefully divided: one part for rent, one part for the bank as a fund for the child, the rest for childbirth expenses.

She realized that if she wanted to live independently, she had to find a job. Thanks to her sewing ability and dexterity in decoration, Meena started taking on sewing clothes and decorating small weddings in the neighborhood. During the day she sewed, at night she took care of herself and read books to learn more about financial management. Meena spent the first rupees to buy things for her child.

When she heard that she was about to give birth, the neighbors in the boarding house – women who had also experienced hardship – quietly helped her. Someone brought her a packet of milk powder, someone sent her gauze towels and diapers. Meena was choked with emotion: human love is sometimes warmer than all the wealth.

The day of giving birth came, Meena was admitted to a small private hospital, the cost was expensive but she had prepared in advance. The doctor delivered a healthy baby boy. When she held the baby in her arms, all the pain and difficulties before seemed to disappear. She named the baby Aarav – meaning “peaceful, strong” – just like the hope she wanted to give him.

After giving birth, Meena continued her sewing business, expanding her decoration and small festival organization services. The number of customers increased, and thanks to her hard work, she gradually accumulated enough capital to rent a small shop in the central market. Aarav grew up in the loving arms of his mother, without lacking affection or education, even without his father by his side.

But Meena did not just care for herself and her child. She started joining independent women’s groups in Mumbai, sharing her experiences of being independent and protecting the rights of single mothers. Each story, each smile of other women gave her more strength, more belief that women do not need to rely on men to live happily.

One afternoon, while standing watching Aarav playing in front of the store, Meena smiled. She knew that her son would grow up with self-respect, with love from his mother, and would be taught that: a woman’s strength does not lie in the status or wealth given by others, but in her own determination and strong heart.

Mumbai is big, bustling and sometimes harsh, but Meena has found a place to belong: a warm home filled with motherly love, where she and Aarav build a future together with their own hands and strong hearts.