My husband went to work abroad but lost contact. He suddenly returned. My wife hadn’t even laughed when she burst into tears upon hearing the heartbreaking truth.

I am Sita Patel, 30 years old, living in a small village in the Indian state of Bihar.
My husband – Raghav Patel – and I met when we worked together in a factory in a neighboring town. He is a humble, honest, and responsible person, which I value most.

We got married when we had nothing, just love and faith in the future. Life was difficult, but peaceful, until Raghav decided to go to Japan to earn more money.

In Bihar, it’s common for men to leave their hometowns to work abroad. They bring money, leaving behind their wives who are waiting for their husbands.

The day I saw him off at the airport, he hugged me tightly:

“Sita, just wait for me for three years. When I come back, we’ll build a new house, and our children will go to a good school.”

I nodded, as if I had faith in the sun.

For the first two years, Raghav called regularly.

He told me about his life in Japan, how although it was difficult, it was still okay.

I heard his smiling voice on the phone, and my heart was filled with warmth and trust.

Whenever my mother-in-law asked, I would say:

“He’s fine, he’s just busy with work, don’t worry.”

On cold rainy nights, I would lie next to my young son, dreaming of the day my husband would return, bringing happiness and a bright future for the whole family.

But then, after a short call, he disappeared without a trace.

No news, no message, no one knew if he was alive or dead.

Time passed, and a long year passed without any news from Raghav.

I tried everything I could to contact him—asked acquaintances, called the brokerage company—but everyone said they didn’t know.

Every night, I prayed before the idol of Vishnu, hoping he was safe.

But my heart slowly grew weary.

Someone said:

“Maybe he’s had an accident. Perform some rituals so his soul can rest in peace.”

I burst into tears, unable to believe it.

I was still waiting, hoping, even though my heart had hardened with longing.

One morning at the beginning of the rainy season, when I had just lit the stove, there was a knock on the door.

I opened the door, and the man standing there stunned me—Raghav, thin, long hair, dark skin.

I thought I was dreaming.

I almost ran to hug him, but stopped when I saw in his arms… a little boy, about two years old, whose face was strangely like my son.

He looked at me, then sank to his knees, his voice trembling:

“Sita… forgive me.”

I stood there stunned, my heart pounding.

Raghav said:

“A year ago, I met a woman who worked in the same factory. She was kind; she helped me when I was sick. Then she became pregnant. I thought of marrying her, but… she died because of the epidemic. This child… had no relatives except me.”

He bowed his head, tears falling to the ground:

“I don’t know what to do. I can only bring him back, I hope you… forgive me.”

I was silent.
So many years of waiting, so many sleepless nights, hopes for every little thing, prayers for every word… and all this in return.

The man I trusted with all my heart betrayed me in a foreign land.

If the pandemic hadn’t forced him to return home, he might have lived with another woman forever, forgetting his wife and children at home.

I looked at the baby – innocent face, round eyes, it wasn’t his fault.

But looking at my husband, I couldn’t hold back my tears.

“You said you’d come back to me… but it turns out you brought someone else’s child with you.”

Raghav bowed his head, speechless.

I turned and hugged my son, tears streaming down my face:

“I waited for you for four years. And now, I have to learn to forget you for the rest of my life.”

I didn’t sign the divorce papers immediately, but we couldn’t live together either.
Raghav stayed with the child at his parents’ house, and I took the child back to my mother’s house.
Every month, he sent money, but I didn’t accept it.

Once, my mother-in-law came to visit me and said:

“Sita, you can hate him, but don’t hate the child. He lost his mother, and he lost his father too – because of his father’s sins.”

I remained silent.
I went to meet the child, and when I saw him run to me, hug me, and call me “Aunty,” my heart melted.

Perhaps time will teach me to forgive – not for Raghav, but for myself.

I understand that sometimes betrayal doesn’t kill love, but rather makes us realize the value of self-respect.

And sometimes, the person who returns from afar… is no longer the one we loved.