A mother-in-law and daughter-in-law went to the bank to withdraw money. An employee secretly slipped a note into their hand that read: “Run away.”
My name is Kamla. I am sixty-two years old. My husband passed away three years ago, leaving me a two-story house on the outskirts of Nagpur and enough savings to live comfortably in my old age.
My son—Arjun—is a construction engineer. He is always at construction sites and comes to see me only two or three times a month. He has been married for five years now. My daughter-in-law—Meera—is a high school teacher. She is beautiful, gentle in the way Maharashtrian women often are, but quiet. Living together, I don’t hate her, yet there is still a distance between us. In India, mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law always follow a polite, unspoken rule.
That morning, the sky was gloomy, as if a storm was about to arrive. Meera came into the room with a restless expression.
“Mom… let’s go to the bank this afternoon to withdraw some money. I’ll take you.”
I was surprised. Meera had never interfered in my finances before.
She bit her lip.
“There’s going to be heavy rain at home, the roof is leaking. I think we should withdraw some cash quickly to get it fixed… and there are a few important things I want to talk to you about.”
The way she avoided eye contact made me uneasy, but thinking about the Indian monsoon, I nodded.
At 11 a.m., Meera took me to the State Bank of India near Dharampeth Market. She stayed outside, saying she needed to reply to some work messages.
I went to Naina’s familiar counter—the employee who had been handling my account for the past five years. But today, her eyes looked strange—worried, frightened.
I told her I wanted to withdraw 300,000 rupees.
Naina typed with trembling hands. After a few minutes, she got up and went into the security room.
When she returned, she handed me the paperwork to sign. As I bent down, Naina pretended to pick up a paper clip and slipped a folded piece of paper into my hand.
In a shaking whisper, she said,
“You… go straight home. Don’t trust anyone. Please.”
I slightly opened my palm.
On the paper were two words written in Hindi:
“Run away.”
My blood froze.
I looked up and saw Meera standing outside the glass doors—her face tense, her eyes cold and fearful.
On the way back, I could barely breathe. Meera calmly asked, “Did you withdraw the money?”
I just nodded.
When we reached the gate, I saw something I had never seen before: the gate was open.
I told Meera to stay outside.
When I opened the door…
I was shocked.
The living room looked like it had been ransacked.
The altar was open.
Papers were scattered everywhere.
The wooden cabinet with files was wide open.
And… the safe my husband had left behind was completely open—the safe door was blackened.
Meera came in behind me, but she didn’t look panicked at all. She stood in the middle of the room, her eyes cold and fearful.
“Mom… you’re finally back.”
I trembled.
“What… are you doing here?”
Meera clenched her fists.
“Someone broke into the house. I found out this morning.”
She pulled out a stack of envelopes. I was stunned.
Bank loan papers + loan papers from loan sharks, all in Arjun’s name.
Total: 12 million rupees.
Meera said,
“Arjun came home last night at midnight. I saw him searching through your file cabinet. He said it was urgent. This morning he told me to take you to withdraw money at any cost… so I did what he said, just to understand what was going on.”
I felt weak.
“Who else knows the safe code besides you?”
Meera remained silent.
I checked the safe: the gold was intact, the red ledger was still there.
But my husband’s brown leather notebook was missing—the one with secret account numbers and loans written on it.
Naina’s voice echoed:
“Kamla! Are you safe?”
“Child… why did you tell me to run away?”
Naina trembled.
“This morning, a strange woman followed me in through the bank gate. She was staring at me through the glass door. She was around fifty, wearing a brown sari and silver bangles. When she looked at me, her eyes were terrifying.”
I was shocked.
It wasn’t Meera.
It was Rani—the elderly maid who had worked in my house for ten years, but quit after my husband’s death.
At 8 p.m., Arjun came home. He looked exhausted.
“Mom… I didn’t open the safe! I was just looking for Dad’s notebook to see where I could get money to repay my debts! I got scammed when I invested in crypto… I was completely broke…”
Meera shouted,
“Then who opened the safe? When I came in, it was already open!”
Silence filled the house.
Arjun was terrified.
“Dad… gave me the safe code and… someone else.”
“Who?!”
Swallowing hard, Arjun said,
“Rani.”
I collapsed into a chair.
The police came to investigate.
The fingerprints on the safe matched Rani’s profile.
It was discovered that:
Rani was part of a gang in Maharashtra that targeted elderly people.
She had secretly made an extra key.
Knowing that Arjun was drowning in debt and that the house was in chaos, she returned.
She followed me from home to the bank.
When Meera and I left the house, she went to the safe to look for my husband’s “black book.”
A week later, Rani was arrested in Pune while trying to withdraw money from an account listed in the notebook.
Arjun fell to his knees and begged forgiveness from his wife and me. Meera broke down crying.
I placed my hand on her shoulder.
“From now on, you will keep the safe code for me.”
Meera burst into tears in my arms.
Even today, whenever I open the drawer and see that note that says “Run away,” I still tremble.
Because sometimes…
A small warning can save a life.