The husband works far away and sends his mother 20 lakh rupees/month to support his wife who just gave birth. One time, he unexpectedly came home to visit his wife and children and was shocked to see his wife hastily swallowing a BOWL OF RICE mixed with NOODLES. The husband got mad and kicked the door open to do something horrifying.
At 11 am, I arrived at the end of the alley. The spacious 2-storey house in a quiet neighborhood of Delhi was quiet. I tiptoed to open the gate with my own key. Stepping into the yard, I heard the sound of the TV on loudly and the sound of laughter in the living room.

Through the window, I saw my mother and my younger sister sitting having lunch. On the table was a sumptuous meal: Chicken curry, fragrant biryani, raita, papadum and gulab jamun sweets…

I breathed a sigh of relief. With my mother eating like this, my wife Priya and my children must be well taken care of. She must be sleeping or eating in her room. I was about to push the door open to surprise her, but a fleeting thought made me stop. I wanted to see what my wife was doing without me.

I went around to the back of the house, where there was a small kitchenette and a dark bedroom that my mother had made for Priya to stay in after confinement “for peace and quiet”. And the sight before me made my heart stop. The kitchen door was ajar. In the dim, hot light, Priya was huddled on an old charpai. She was emaciated, her cheeks sunken, her skin as pale as a leaf. In her arms Priya held my tiny daughter, who was crying hysterically.

And Priya… she was having lunch. No chicken curry. No biryani. In front of her was a hastily cooked Maggi packet, the water cold, the noodles bloated. Not a single piece of vegetable or protein. Priya coaxed her child while she hurriedly ate the Maggi. Her tears fell into the bowl, salty.

While eating, she sobbed: “Stop it baby… I’m sorry… I’m so hungry… I’ll eat some and then I’ll feed you…”. I stood there, stunned. My blood was boiling, rushing from my feet to the top of my head. “20 lakh a month”! I sent 20 lakh rupees for my wife to eat Maggi and become bloated like this? I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

BAM!!!! …

I kicked open the kitchen door.
The whole house shook.
Priya jumped, hugging her child so tightly that her hands were shaking. The bowl of Maggi almost fell from her hands.

My mother and sister in the living room heard the noise and ran in, panicked. I stood in the middle of the door, my whole body tense as a string, my eyes red, my voice choked with anger:

— “Is this food for women after giving birth? This is how you feed your daughter-in-law when I send you 20 lakh a month?”

My mother was stunned for a second, then her face changed, and she stammered:
— “Oh… oh… why did you come back… without telling me…”

But I couldn’t listen.

I walked straight to Priya, looked at the cold bowl of Maggi, and looked at my wife’s face, so thin that I almost couldn’t recognize her.

I turned to my mother, gritting my teeth…— “You ate chicken curry and biryani in the morning, but let your wife and children eat MAGGI? 20 lakh a month – what did you spend it on?”

My sister interrupted, grimacing:
— “What are you doing? Women in confinement eat a lot of hot spices, Maggi is light on the stomach!”

I stared at her:
— “Do you think I’m stupid?”

Then I looked straight at my mother:
— “My wife and I are so skinny, don’t you see? How could you bear to…”

Priya quickly pulled my sleeve, shaking her head slightly:
— “You… don’t say anymore… I can handle it… you’re busy with so many things…”

Her voice was so weak it sounded like the wind.

I turned around, looking straight at my mother:
— “Explain.”

My mother pursed her lips, trying to keep her face cold:
— “This house supports three adults, isn’t it? 20 lakh is not much in Delhi. You have to pay for electricity, water, groceries, medicine… A new daughter-in-law has to sacrifice a little…”

I smiled faintly, a smile full of pain:
— “Sacrifice by eating Maggi until you’re bloated?”

The kitchen was dead silent.
I walked to the refrigerator. It was empty except for a few eggs and a bottle of water.
Then I opened my mother’s private drawer.
Inside were a stack of shopping receipts, all high-end cosmetics, brand new clothes, and some fancy restaurant receipts.

I picked them up, my voice hissing through my teeth:
— “Mom said you ran out of money because of… these things?”

My mother changed color, snatching the pile of papers:
— “What are you going through my things for!? I raised you for more than twenty years, now what I eat is my right!”

I closed my eyes, trying to swallow my lump.
— “And the money I sent to raise my WIFE and CHILDREN – you spent it all? You let my wife and children starve, let my child cry all day and night in this hot, dark kitchen?”

My sister pouted:
— “She gave birth to a daughter, so of course you love my nephew more…”

Just that one sentence… made me speechless.
I turned to Priya.
She lowered her head, tears falling down her daughter’s cheeks.
I understood everything. One by one. Every skinny spot, every poor meal, every night she texted “I’m fine” and I believed it.
Because she didn’t dare say it.
Because she was afraid of embarrassing me.

I took a deep breath.
Then calmly said — but with a voice as cold as ice:
— “From today, I will take Priya to her parents’ house in Bangalore. I will take care of my wife and my child myself. You have no right to control me anymore.”

My mother jumped up:
— “You dare!?”

I took my daughter from Priya’s arms and hugged her close to my chest.
— “I not only dare… but I will do it right away.”

I helped Priya stand up. She fell against me because she was too weak.

I looked at my mother, one last time:
— “Do you want to save face? I said clearly: FROM NOW ON, DON’T TAKE MY MONEY ANYMORE.”

My mother turned pale:
— “You… you are unfilial!”

I smiled, softly but sadly:
— “No. Unfilial is letting your wife and daughter be abused without doing anything.”

I led Priya straight to the door.
Without looking back.
No hesitation.
The Delhi sun was scorching outside, but I suddenly felt light-hearted.

Priya grabbed my hand and asked with a trembling voice:
— “Are you… angry with me?”

I squeezed her hand:
— “I’m only angry with myself… for coming home too late.”

And from that day on… I vowed:
Never again would my wife shed a single tear for her husband’s family.