The time for the wedding procession had arrived. He looked at me with a satisfied smile, but when his eyes met my daughter, who was crying and clinging to my legs, that smile vanished. He frowned, his face showing clear displeasure. Without a word, he bent down, lifted the little girl up, and…
She stood frozen in front of the large mirror in the waiting room, staring intently at the woman in the magnificent crimson wedding sari reflected in her. She was beautiful, but utterly unfamiliar. The elaborate makeup couldn’t completely hide the dark circles and swollen eyes from crying all night. Outside, the lively wedding music and the boisterous laughter of the guests echoed in like hammer blows to her tightening chest.

Her life had never been a smooth, straight line. Her parents died early, and she grew up with her aunt, lacking affection and always yearning for a complete, loving home. It was this vulnerability and fear of loneliness that drove her into the arms of her first man at the age of 20. He made promises but then abandoned her when he learned she was pregnant.

That day, standing outside the abortion clinic, her aunt’s words were like a cold shower: “If you abort it, it’s like murder! After all, it’s your child, your own flesh and blood.” She turned and ran, accepting the loss of her education and throwing herself into life, working various jobs to raise her child. She became a single mother amidst the harsh prejudices of society.

Mina was born into poverty, but she was the only light, the only motivation for her to continue living. Five years passed, and the two of them relied on each other like two small trees in a storm. Mina understood the situation with heartbreak.

Then she met Raj.

Raj appeared like a refreshing monsoon rain in her barren life. He was mature, successful, spoke gently, and, most importantly, didn’t mind her past. The way he patiently played with Mina, the way he bought her milk and candy, melted her heart. She believed, truly believed, that the gods had finally smiled upon her and her daughter.

After six months, she discovered she was pregnant with Raj’s child. A new life was forming. The wedding was quickly arranged. But just as she was feeling elated, Raj poured a bucket of icy cold water on her: “After we get married, leave Mina with your aunt. I’m afraid that having children from different relationships will be complicated, and my mother will be difficult. We’ll provide monthly support, and you can visit when you miss her.”

She was stunned. Raj spoke softly, but his eyes were resolutely cold. The vague fear of being stigmatized again, the fear that her unborn child would be fatherless, resurfaced, suffocating her reason. She cowardly nodded. A nod that tore at the mother’s heart.

The wedding day arrived. From early morning, little Mina seemed to sense something was amiss. The little girl refused to leave her mother’s side, her tiny hands clutching the sari tightly. Her large, teary eyes looked up at her mother pleadingly, “Mommy, please don’t leave me behind… I promise I’ll be good…”

The time for the wedding ceremony had arrived. Raj entered the room, elegantly dressed in a luxurious sherwani. He smiled contentedly at his wife, but when his eyes met little Mina, who was crying and clinging to her legs, his smile vanished. He frowned in annoyance. Without a word, he bent down and roughly picked the little girl up… “What are you doing?” His wife exclaimed, grabbing his arm.

Raj didn’t answer. He carried Mina out of the bride’s room and straight to the small, dark, dusty storage room next door. He placed her inside and quickly locked the door.

“I’m giving her to Mom to look after for a while. They say that having a crying child, especially a stepchild, during the wedding ceremony is very unlucky and brings misfortune to our family.” Raj brushed off his sleeves and straightened his clothes.

She stood frozen, her blood seemingly freezing. Was her daughter—her flesh and blood—her misfortune?

“Bang! Bang! Bang!”

The frantic knocking echoed. The wooden door rattled violently. “Mom! Open the door for me! Mom, I’m afraid of the dark! Don’t go… sniffle…”

Mina’s heart-wrenching cries pierced through the wooden door, through the artificial, noisy wedding music outside, and struck directly at her heart, awakening her dormant maternal instincts.

Raj approached, took her hand, his voice urgent, seemingly oblivious to her sobs: “Come on, honey, it’s the auspicious time. Auntie will look after her. Let’s go, the car is waiting, Mom and Dad are waiting.”

Raj’s hand was warm, but somehow, upon touching her skin, it felt icy cold. She looked at the man before her. Was this the good father she had hoped for? Could a man be so heartless as to lock a terrified 5-year-old child in a room just because of superstition, just because of pride?

The knocking on the door continued, growing more and more desperate: “Mommy… I’m being good… please don’t leave me… I’m so scared…”

Her sanity shattered. Her resignation, her fear of prejudice, her longing for a husband—all vanished. All she could think of was little Mina huddled in the darkness. She was a mother. She couldn’t do this!

She yanked her hand away from Raj’s. He staggered, bewildered: “What are you doing, Priya?”

Without a word, she raised her hand to her head, snatched the bridal dupatta, and threw it forcefully to the ground. She turned and ran towards the storage room.

“Priya! Are you crazy? It’s time for the wedding ceremony!” Raj shouted from behind.

She ignored him. She rushed to unlock the door. The door swung open. Little Mina rushed out, her face smeared with tears, trembling uncontrollably. Seeing her, the child burst into tears and clung tightly to her legs. She knelt down, hugging her tightly, tears streaming down her face.

“Mommy’s here. I’m sorry, my child. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll never leave you again, Mina.”

The whole house fell silent. The music seemed to stop. Her aunt and relatives on both sides were stunned. Raj, his face flushed with anger, snarled, “Are you making a fool of yourself in front of everyone? Get up! Give the child to your aunt and get in the car! Don’t make me lose my patience!”

She looked up at Raj, wiping away her tears, her eyes dry and cold. She stood up, lifted her daughter in her arms, and looked directly into her fiancé’s face:

“There will be no wedding. I cannot marry a man who considers my daughter a bad omen. You fear my daughter will affect your happiness and your pride, so I will give you back your freedom.”

“You… you dare to cancel the wedding? Have you thought about the child in your womb? Are you planning to leave it without a father?” Raj shouted.

She placed her hand on her stomach, pained but resolute: “My child, I will raise. I raised Mina alone for five years, and I will have the strength to raise this child as well. It’s better for my child to be fatherless than to live with a cruel and selfish father like you. A man who doesn’t know how to love children doesn’t deserve to be a father.”

With that, she took off her manghana (traditional Indian wedding ring) and slammed it down on the table. Turning to her aunt, she said, “Auntie, I’m sorry. But I can’t remarry. I’m going home.”

She carried Mina out of the wedding, head held high, leaving behind the whispers and Raj’s stunned face. The sun blazed, and as she walked, her red sari stained with dust.

Her heart ached, yet felt light. On her shoulder, Mina’s sobs had subsided. The little girl rested her head on her shoulder and fell asleep. She knew the road ahead would be rough and rocky again, and there would be more hardships with her two young children. But as long as she could hold her children in her arms, what did the storms outside matter? She had come home. And home was where her children were.