The groom’s family agreed immediately with the dowry of 10 lakh rupees. On the wedding night, I lifted the blanket and looked down at my husband, and then I understood why they agreed to the request so quickly.

In my heart, I was sure that Aarav’s family would object and cancel the wedding when they heard the “unreasonable” conditions my parents had proposed. However, after only a few minutes of thinking, both he and his parents immediately agreed.

My name is Priya, 28 years old – the age that in India, people say women are “too old” if they are not married. Before that, I had been in love with two people, but it didn’t go anywhere because my family was too strict. My parents always found something to criticize the person I loved, hurt them and then withdrew.

When the matchmaker introduced Aarav – a guy living in Jaipur, my parents seemed satisfied. Perhaps because they were afraid that I would be single. Aarav and I dated for about four months, then his family urged us to get married.

But when it came to the wedding, a big problem arose — my parents asked for 10 lakh rupees (equivalent to about 500 million VND). I was stunned, trying to advise my parents:

“Dear parents, that is just a formality, that amount is too much for Aarav’s family. I am not a princess to demand such a high dowry.”

But my parents did not listen. They said that after all the years of raising me, now that I am married, 10 lakh is still not enough. I could only stay silent, heartbroken and wondering — “Are they selling their daughter?”

I thought for sure that Aarav’s family would turn their backs on the wedding, but just a few minutes later, they agreed. I was surprised and touched, thinking that Aarav truly loved me as he said.

The wedding was held with great fanfare, both sides were happy. I believed that I had met the right person.

The wedding night — also the first night of my husband and I. Because of the short time of knowing each other, Aarav had said he wanted to keep it until marriage. I believe that was out of respect.

I came out of the bathroom, very nervous. He was lying under the blanket waiting. I gently approached, pulled the blanket up — and was stunned.

Under the blanket, my husband’s naked body appeared, one leg was prosthetic!

I stood there like a stone. Aarav just smiled, softly said:

“Two years ago, I had an accident while working in Mumbai. Since then, I had to wear a prosthetic leg. I didn’t want to tell you because I was afraid you would leave me.”

I was speechless. It turned out that everything was a lie. During the time we were dating, I only saw him walking a little slowly — I didn’t expect that was the reason. The reason for not wanting to be intimate before marriage turned out to be just to hide this truth.

Worse, he had told my family that his income was 30,000 rupees/month. But in fact, he had been unemployed since the accident.

Aarav said his family had to sell their ancestral land in Rajasthan to pay the dowry. Now that I had married, not only would I have to take care of my disabled husband, but I would also be bound by that “debt of honor”.

He looked at me and said coldly:

“Don’t even think about divorce. I won’t agree. Your family has already received 10 lakh, do you think I will let it go easily? If you want peace, just live like this and give birth to a child for me.”

Then Aarav pounced on me and wanted to pull me off the bed. I was scared and quickly ran out of the bridal chamber. But I didn’t dare go anywhere — if I left, my family would be accused of selling their child for money.

That night, I slept alone in another room.

The next morning, my in-laws also said bluntly:

“Your family has received the dowry. If we leave now, people will laugh at us.”

I was speechless, knowing that I was trapped. Returning the dowry is not difficult, but my parents’ honor will be ruined.

Now I can only sit there, wondering — Can I accept living my whole life with that crippled and deceitful man, just for honor and a meaningless dowry?

In the days that followed, my home in Jaipur became a golden cage.

On the outside, everyone thought I was lucky to have a loving husband and a wealthy in-law family. But on the inside, every step I took felt like I was walking on a thousand needles.

Aarav was still gentle in front of others, still calling me “the symbol of luck in his life.” But when it was just the two of us, he became cold, his eyes always shining with a strange possessiveness.

Once, I told him that I wanted to go back to work — just to escape the suffocating feeling at home.

He replied, his voice calm:

“No need. I can take care of you. You just need to stay home, be a wife, and have children soon.”

Those words made me choke up. I didn’t know if he said it out of love, or because he wanted to keep me under control.

Sometimes, looking out the window where the sun was shining, I would remember the days of freedom, remember the simple dates at the small coffee shop, when my heart was full of faith in love.

Once, when cleaning Aarav’s office, I found a stack of old medical papers — the medical records clearly stated that he had lost his job two years ago, and had intended to apply for disability benefits.

I sat there for a long time. Now I understood: he had not married me for love — but because he needed a “ticket” back to the honor and stability he had lost.

That night, I packed my clothes, booked a night train ticket to Delhi, intending to leave this marriage despite the gossip. But when I reached the door, I heard my mother calling on the phone:

“Son, your relatives are praising you for marrying a good husband who knows how to love his wife. Your father is very happy. Don’t disappoint everyone.”

I stood still, tears streaming down my cheeks.

I glanced down at the wedding ring on my hand, then out the window at the pitch-black sky.

The night train was still there, just a few blocks away.

If I left, I would be free — but it would mean bringing shame to both families.

If I stayed, I would continue to live in lies and pain, but keep the “honor” that someone thought was important.

I took a deep breath, gripped the strap of my bag, then stepped back, closing the door.

The bedroom light cast a long streak of light on the tile floor, trembling and wavering like my future.

I didn’t know if I had made the right decision or not —
I only knew that, from that moment on, I had stopped believing in weddings measured in money