For 30 consecutive days, my wife ran straight to the bathroom after picking up our son…

My wife and I have been married for almost 7 years and have a 5-year-old son. We live in Lucknow, and while we’re not rich, we’re not poor either. I always thought family happiness was simple: a hot meal, a warm home, and a family together.

But for about a month, I’ve noticed my wife behaving very strangely. Every day, after work, after picking up my son from kindergarten, she runs straight to the bathroom, not even bothering to talk or eat. At first, I thought she was tired, or that she just wanted to take a quick bath to relax due to the hot weather in North India. But when this phenomenon repeated itself for 30 consecutive days, I began to become suspicious.

Various thoughts began to arise in my mind: Is my wife hiding something from me? Is she trying to hide something? Or maybe… there’s some scary hypothesis I don’t even want to think about.

One night, lying next to her, I asked softly:

Anjali, why do you go straight to the bathroom as soon as you get home?

My wife smiled slightly, her gaze averted:

I just want to be clean and comfortable. What are you thinking…

The answer seemed simple, but the aversion in her eyes made me uneasy. So on the 31st day, I decided to do something I’ll never forget: hide in the closet, peek through the cracks, and see what my wife was hiding.

That afternoon, as usual, my wife woke up our son, Aarav, told him to sit and play nicely, then quickly went to the bathroom. I watched her every move with bated breath.

And then… I was stunned by the sight before my eyes. My wife hadn’t bathed. She sat down on the tiled floor, turned on the faucet, and began cleaning the blood stains on her arms. Her skin was covered in bruises and needle marks, dark red, as if she’d been pricked repeatedly. I watched her shiver. She quickly washed it, then took out the antiseptic, gritted her teeth to endure the pain, and then tightly bandaged it.

My heart sank. It turned out that for the past 30 days, she had been suffering silently, hiding everything from me.

I couldn’t contain myself any longer, rushed out of the closet, and hugged my wife. She was shocked, her face terrified, tears streaming down her face:
– Why… why are you here? Did you see everything?

My throat choked:
– What’s wrong with you? Why didn’t you tell me? How long will you let me live so carelessly?

At that very moment, my wife fainted, bursting into tears. Between sobs, she confessed:

I’ve had a blood disease for a long time, and I have to get regular IVs and treatments. But I was afraid of the financial burden, afraid you’d worry, so I kept it a secret. My hands were covered with bruises after every IV. I just want to endure it myself… so you and Aarav don’t have to suffer.

Hearing these words, I was stunned, my legs went weak. The woman who had been with me for so long was battling this disease alone, while I—my husband—had no idea.

I hugged her tightly, tears pooling in my hair:
– You’re so stupid! I’d rather endure everything with you than want you to suffer alone. Family isn’t just about sharing joys, but about facing hardships together.

The next day, I took my wife to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences (AIIMS) hospital in Delhi for a check-up and to begin treatment. The cost wasn’t much, but at least I knew what was happening, and I could get through the difficult days with her.

From then on, I started taking better care of my wife: playing with Aarav, cooking simple meals together, reading her favorite books together. I want you to know that you’re never alone.

And I also realized something: Sometimes, we think we’re smart enough to understand our partner, but in reality, we unconsciously overlook even the most subtle signals.

That strange 30-day story taught me a profound lesson: marriage requires more than just love, but also listening, understanding, and sharing.

Because if that doesn’t happen, one day we might realize that we’ve left the person we love most to suffer alone.

What I saw through the hole in the cupboard that day were not just the wounds on my wife’s hands, but also the wounds in my heart – something that only the love and support of family can heal.

A Journey of Faith

In the early days before Anjali was taken to AIIMS, Delhi for treatment, I could clearly see the confusion in my wife’s eyes. She was terrified of the needles, the hospital bills, and the uncertain future. But every time, I would hold her hand tightly and whisper:

– I am here. We will live together.

Every time an injection was administered, I sat next to Anjali, holding her hand. Sometimes Aarav would come running over and murmur about kindergarten to help her forget the pain. Seeing this, many nurses would say:
– You’re so lucky. Not everyone has a family like this.

Anjali smiled, her eyes welling with tears.

As the days passed, the pain persisted after each treatment, but I taught Anjali a new habit: writing a diary of hope. After each injection, we would write down one small thing that made us both happy that day: Today Aarav learned a new Hindi poem, today the family ate the curry I made, today it was raining, yet the three of us sat together in the small room listening to music…

Those pages of the diary grew thicker, like proof of faith.

Almost a year later, one autumn morning, the doctor announced:

– The test results show that your condition has improved significantly. If you persevere, you can live many more years of healthy life.

Anjali fell silent. Then she burst into tears and hugged me. I, unable to hold back my tears, leaned down and whispered:

– See, I told you, we can do it.

That day, we took Aarav for a walk in the hospital garden. For the first time in months, Anjali smiled openly; she no longer had to wear a bandage on her arm. Seeing that smile made my heart skip a beat.

We know the journey ahead is still long, with follow-up visits, and sudden pain. But unlike before, Anjali is no longer alone. Every step of the way, Aarav and I are with her, holding her hand.

And I understand one more thing: happiness isn’t about escaping the storms, but about finding someone to sit next to you in the rain and wind.

The day I hid in the closet, I saw the wounds on my wife’s hands. But after this trip, I saw something else: the extraordinary strength and determination hidden in the heart of the woman I love.

And I made a silent promise to myself: I would never let her hide her pain alone again.