I am 67 years old, and a month ago I underwent hip replacement surgery. The doctor told me I needed rest and constant care, so my son Arjun insisted that I stay at his house for the first few weeks of recovery.
I hesitated—I didn’t want to be a burden on him or his wife—but he was so loving that I eventually agreed.
“Mom, it’s only until you feel better. Meera will take care of you,” he said with a smile.
But soon I realized that Meera, my daughter-in-law, was far from happy about my presence.
During the first few days, she barely spoke to me. She avoided looking at me, sighed impatiently whenever I asked for anything, and made sure to constantly remind me that the house was hers.
Still, I tried to remain calm and polite, though both physical and emotional pain were growing.
Things got worse when Arjun had to travel for work for three days.
I was left alone with Meera.
The first morning without him, I asked for a simple glass of water.
She looked at me coldly and said, with disdain:
— “How long are you going to keep being a burden in our lives?”
I tried to stay calm.
— “Meera, dear, I didn’t mean to bother you…”
She smiled sarcastically.
— “Don’t give me that victim face! Arjun should only worry about me, understand? You’re just a weight stopping us from living in peace!”
That night, I cried silently.
The next morning, I heard the sound of the car trunk closing. Meera was at the door, holding the keys.
— “We’re going for a drive,” she said in a dry voice.
I thought we were going to the doctor or pharmacy, but instead, she took me to a homeless shelter.
— “It’ll be better for everyone,” she muttered without looking at me. — “And Arjun doesn’t need to know. You don’t want to make him angry, do you? Understand?!”
I didn’t respond. I just nodded, swallowing my tears.
When she left, I sat on a bench in the shelter, my suitcase on my lap, my heart in pieces.
I waited until Arjun returned from his trip. When I finally managed to call him, my voice was barely a whisper.
Less than an hour later, he appeared—still carrying his suitcase—and hugged me tightly.
— “Mom, everything will be alright. I promise.”
That night, he returned home without notifying Meera. He opened the door calmly, pretending everything was normal. Meera was sitting at the dining table, a glass of wine in her hand, smiling.
— “Ah, you’re back!” she said sweetly. — “How was the trip?”
Arjun gave a slight smile.
— “Not bad.” He paused. — “Where’s Mom? I thought she’d still be here.”
Meera shrugged, pretending to be casual.
— “She left a few days ago. Said she felt better and went back to her house.”
Arjun’s jaw tightened. He set down his suitcase, eyes blazing.
— “Ah, almost forgot…” he said with a cold smile. — “I brought you a souvenir from my trip.”
He placed an elegant box on the table.
— “Oh, Arjun!” she exclaimed, excited. — “I hope it’s the bracelet I wanted!”
She opened the lid… and the color drained from her face.
Inside the box was a USB drive and a photo: her, standing in front of the shelter, leaving me there with my suitcase.
Arjun looked at her silently as she began to tremble.
— “The company car has a front camera, Meera,” he said firmly. — “And the security guard at the airport told me you left alone that morning. So I checked the recordings.”
Meera tried to speak, but her voice broke.
— “I… I just wanted to…”
— “Enough,” Arjun interrupted. — “Pack your things. You are leaving my house tonight.”
She went pale, hands shaking.
Arjun took a deep breath and added, tears in his eyes:
— “You’ve destroyed a man’s trust… and your own dignity.”
The next morning, he took me back home.
He made me coffee, arranged my pillows, and smiled at me tenderly.
— “Mom, now… everything will be alright.”
And for the first time in weeks, I believed him.