After the wedding rituals were over, Mrs. Sharma cleaned the entire house, exhausted, and went to sleep. Her son Amit and daughter-in-law Priya had already gone to their room earlier.
The next morning, she woke up at 5 a.m. and began cleaning again because the house was still full of dust and oil stains. But by 10 a.m., her back was aching — and there was still no movement upstairs.
She called out from downstairs:
“Bahuuuu! Come down and cook! Bahuuuu!”
She called again.
Still nothing.
Her feet hurt, so she didn’t want to climb the stairs repeatedly. But now she was tired and angry.
She grabbed a stick from the kitchen corner and marched upstairs to “teach the new bride a lesson.”
By the time she reached the top, she was breathless, and her anger had reached her head. She tightened her grip on the stick.
“What kind of daughter-in-law is this? Newly married and doesn’t know any manners — sleeping till midday!” she snapped.
Without waiting for a response, she yanked the quilt away.
And froze.
The stick fell from her hand with a loud clack.
On the perfectly white wedding-night bedsheet was a dark red, wet patch — but it wasn’t the kind she had imagined.
It looked smeared, almost like a crime scene.
White feathers were scattered all around, sticking to the red stain.
Even worse — Priya was curled up in a corner, face pale, lips trembling, clutching a thin sheet.
And Amit was sitting shirtless, breathing heavily, his sleeves stained red, his face full of panic, exhaustion, and terror.
Mrs. Sharma gasped, covering her mouth.
“What… what IS this?!”
Amit spun around. Seeing his mother at the door, he nearly fell.
Priya burst into tears and buried her face in the pillow.
Amit started explaining frantically:
“Maa… it’s not what you think! This is NOT blood! I—I had a very bad allergy attack last night!”
He pointed to his chest.
Indeed, red splotches covered his skin, swollen like insect bites.
“I’m allergic to this new feather blanket and feather pillows! It was itching and burning all night — I kept scratching myself!”
He pointed at the red stain. Now she noticed — it wasn’t thick like blood.
“And… and this is tomato chutney! The same chutney you made yesterday for samosas! I couldn’t stop scratching, so Priya remembered you once said cold things or salt water or even chutney helps soothe bites. She panicked, ran to the kitchen, found your leftover chutney, and started applying it all over me!”
Priya sobbed:
“He couldn’t breathe properly… I was terrified! I didn’t know what else to do… I forgot to call you, Maa… I’m sorry!”
Amit hugged her.
“We scraped the dried chutney off, changed the sheets, cleaned the bed… we didn’t sleep all night! We only just fell asleep from exhaustion. Maa, please forgive us!”
Mrs. Sharma stood like a statue.
Her anger melted into shock… then compassion.
She had come with a stick to scold a lazy daughter-in-law.
Instead she discovered her daughter-in-law had spent the entire wedding night saving her son.
And the feather blanket she gifted them was the reason for all the chaos.
She picked up the stick — not to hit, but to steady her aching legs — and walked closer.
She placed a hand on Amit’s shoulder, then looked at Priya with tenderness she had never shown before.
“Priya… beti… Amit has had this stupid allergy since childhood… you must have suffered so much. I… I’m sorry.”
She looked at the stained bedsheet and said:
“Amit, help your wife wash up and rest. I’ll get new bedding. I’ll wash all this myself.”
But when she lifted the bedsheet to gather it, something slipped out — a thin red envelope.
Not chutney.
Not feathers.
A one-way plane ticket, hidden under the mattress.
A ticket to Singapore.
Departure date: two months later.
Issued in Amit’s name.
Her hands trembled.
“Why… why is this hidden? Was my son planning to leave his wife? Was he going to run away right after the wedding?”
Fear shot up her spine.
Her expression shifted from kindness to suspicion.
When Amit and Priya came downstairs, she slammed the red envelope on the table.
“What is THIS?”
Amit froze.
Priya lowered her head, tears welling.
“Maa… I—” Amit began.
“Don’t call me ‘Maa’!” she snapped.
“Your wedding was just yesterday and you already bought a one-way ticket? Were you planning to abandon her?”
Amit clenched his fists, took a slow breath, and finally spoke:
“Maa… this ticket… isn’t for running away.
It’s because of my job.”
Mrs. Sharma folded her arms.
“And you had to hide it?!”
Suddenly Priya stepped forward.
“Maa… please don’t blame Amit ji.
I bought the ticket.”
Silence.
Priya wiped her tears and continued:
“This project in Singapore is crucial for his career. He rejected it to stay for the wedding… because he didn’t want you to feel alone, and he didn’t want me to start my marriage away from him.”
She pointed at Amit, whose eyes were now red.
“I contacted his boss secretly. They said if Amit ji goes, he might become regional director… a once-in-a-lifetime chance.
He wouldn’t agree, so I bought the ticket to give it to him after two months.”
Mrs. Sharma stared — first at Amit, then at Priya.
Her son — who sacrificed his promotion for family.
Her daughter-in-law — who sacrificed her wedding-night comfort and future companionship to help her husband succeed.
Tears filled her eyes.
She pulled both of them into a tight embrace.
“Beti… I misunderstood you.
Both of you.
You’re a wonderful wife and a wonderful daughter-in-law.”
She picked up the plane ticket again, her expression completely changed.
“Fine. I agree.
Amit—you WILL go.”
Amit’s eyes widened.
“But, Maa—”
“And Priya,” she added with a smile,
“you will go with him.”
Both of them gasped.
“But Maa, you—?” Amit began.
She laughed softly.
“I’m old, not helpless. I’ll visit you later.
This ticket isn’t for separation.
It’s the beginning of your future.”