My husband and I had been married for five years. Married life wasn’t always peaceful, but I always considered myself lucky to have such a thoughtful mother-in-law. She had always been polite, rarely meddled in anything, and often gave me kind advice.
Recently, I was exhausted from work, my heart heavy. My husband — Hitesh — was busy all day and barely had time to pay attention to me. Seeing me so worn out, one afternoon my mother-in-law, Mrs. Sarla, called me into the living room of our house in Quezon City and placed a thick envelope in front of me:
“Here. This is 2 million pesos. Take a break and go on a vacation abroad. Spend a few weeks, then come back and think things over.”
I was stunned. My mother-in-law had never given me such a large sum of money, nor suggested that I go on a trip. At first, I was excited — I thought maybe she really cared about me. But then I started to suspect: why did she want me out of the house right now?
Still, I accepted her suggestion: I packed my bags and bought a ticket from Ninoy Aquino International Airport Terminal 3. Hitesh didn’t object — he simply said, “Go, get some fresh air. Mom will take care of things at home.” That phrase puzzled me even more.
The day I was supposed to leave for the airport, my mother-in-law personally accompanied me, giving all kinds of instructions. I hugged her goodbye with a strange smile. But when she turned her face away, I made a decision: I would pretend to leave, but secretly return. I wanted to know what was happening in the house while I was supposedly away.
I took a taxi back to Quezon City, got out a few blocks from our home, and walked the rest of the way. As I reached the end of the alley, my heart began to pound. The front door was open, and loud laughter came from inside. I leaned against the wall and peeked in.
What I saw left me speechless: in the living room, Hitesh was sitting next to a young woman — hair tied up, wearing flashy clothes — and she rested her head on his shoulder, laughing and chatting. The worst part: Mrs. Sarla was also there. She didn’t object at all — in fact, she was happily serving food and smiling, saying:
“The daughter-in-law is gone. Now you can relax. I just hope there’s someone to take care of Hitesh. Riya is a good girl. I like her very much.”
My ears started ringing. It was clear that the “trip” she had arranged was just a trick to get me out of the house and make room for someone else. The 2 million pesos were simply hush money — a consolation prize for leaving without causing trouble.
That night, I didn’t return home. I rented a small hotel room in Makati and spent the night tossing and turning. It was painful, but I refused to break. If I stayed silent, I knew I would suffer forever.
The next morning, I contacted a lawyer in Bonifacio Global City, asked about the process of property division, and began the necessary proceedings. I also asked a trusted acquaintance to gather clear evidence. I wanted everything to be transparent.
Two weeks later, while they still believed I was enjoying Europe, I walked into the living room with a lawyer and a file in hand. All three turned pale. Hitesh stammered, Mrs. Sarla looked confused, and Riya quickly avoided eye contact.
I looked them directly in the eyes — calm but firm:
“Thank you for the 2 million pesos. I’ll use it to start a new life — freer and lighter. From now on, I have no connection with this family.”
Saying that, I placed the divorce papers on the table, turned without looking back, and left. This time, I didn’t leave the house as someone abandoned — but as a strong woman ready to choose her own happiness.