THREE YEARS MARRIED, YET EVERY NIGHT MY HUSBAND SLEPT IN HIS MOTHER’S ROOM — I FOLLOWED HIM OUT OF JEALOUSY… AND FELL TO MY KNEES SOBBING WHEN I SAW THE UNTHINKABLE TRUTH
My name is Jasmine Kapoor. I’m attractive, well-educated, financially independent, and married to the man I once believed was everything I had ever dreamed of—Dev Kapoor.
But there was one painful flaw in our marriage.
For three long years, I felt like I was sharing my husband with someone else.
Not another woman.
His mother.
Mrs. Savita Kapoor was only sixty. She was still physically strong—she could walk, cook, and even manage light household chores. Yet every single night, without exception, when the clock struck 11:00 PM, Dev would stand up and say gently,
“Jas, I’m going to sleep in the other room… with Mom.”
He would kiss my forehead softly and walk away, leaving me alone in our bedroom.
At first, I tried to understand. Dev told me his mother suffered from insomnia and needed someone beside her at night. I believed him.
But one year passed. Then two. Then three.
Nothing changed.
We had no privacy. No intimacy at night. I felt like a wife only on paper, while his mother remained the center of his world. I lay awake night after night in our South Delhi apartment, questioning my worth as a wife.
My friends started planting doubts in my head.
“That’s strange, Jasmine. She’s not bedridden—why does he have to sleep next to her?”
“He’s way too much of a mama’s boy. Are you sure nothing inappropriate is happening?”
“If I were you, I’d leave him.”
Those words slowly poisoned my thoughts.
I hated myself for even thinking such things, but jealousy crept in like a disease. I began to resent Mrs. Savita. I stopped greeting her in the mornings. I served food cold and without a word. In my mind, she had become my rival—the woman stealing my husband from me.
Then came our wedding anniversary.
I cooked a special dinner. I lit candles. I wore a sexy nightdress, hoping—begging—that this time, Dev would choose me.
At exactly 11:00 PM, Dev stood up.
“Happy anniversary, love,” he said softly. “But I need to go to Mom. She’s waiting for me.”
I exploded.
“Dev! It’s our anniversary! Is your mother more important than your wife? Three years, Dev! I’m exhausted! If you don’t want to sleep here, then maybe we should just separate!”
Dev lowered his head. He looked utterly drained.
“I’m sorry, Jas,” he whispered. “You don’t understand. Please go to sleep.”
Then he walked out and closed the door behind him.
I didn’t sleep.
Anger and desperation burned inside me. I needed to know what was inside that room—what secret was so dark that I was forbidden to enter it at night.
Quietly, I got out of bed and took the spare key to Mrs. Savita’s room—one I had secretly kept for months.
The hallway was silent.
As I reached her door, I froze.
I heard strange sounds.
“Errrr… Ahhh…”
My chest tightened. My hands trembled.
With shaking fingers, I slid the key into the lock.
Click.
I pushed the door open.
“DEV! WHAT ARE YOU—”
My scream died in my throat.
The room smelled of medicine… vomit… and filth.
On the bed, Mrs. Savita was restrained with soft cloths around her wrists and ankles. Her body was thrashing violently. Her eyes were wide open but empty, her mouth screaming words that made no sense.
And Dev—
He was wearing gloves, his arms wrapped tightly around his mother as she struggled. His arms were covered in scratches and bruises.
“Shhh… Ma… I’m here. It’s Dev. Please calm down,” he whispered through tears.
Beside the bed was a basin filled with vomit and waste.
Mrs. Savita wasn’t immoral. She wasn’t manipulative.
She was suffering from severe night terrors caused by dementia, attacks that struck only after dark.
Dev saw me. His eyes widened in panic.
“Jas?! Get out! Don’t look!” he shouted, desperately stopping his mother from biting her own tongue.
I didn’t move.
I collapsed to my knees, sobbing.
The woman I thought was my rival was gravely ill.
And the man I accused of being a “mama’s boy” was, every night, a nurse, a caregiver, and a human shield for his mother.
I crawled forward.
“Dev… what do I do?” I cried.
“Hold her legs, Jas. Wipe her sweat. Please,” he begged.
For the first time in three years, I saw the truth.
It took two hours before Mrs. Savita finally calmed down and fell asleep.
Dev sank to the floor, exhausted. His arm was bleeding from deep scratches.
I cleaned and bandaged his wounds.
“Why?” I asked through tears. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why hide this from me?”
Dev looked at me with shame in his eyes.
“Because I was embarrassed, Jas. For Mom. She used to be such a strong woman. I didn’t want you to see her like this—helpless, screaming, losing control. I wanted to protect her dignity in your eyes.”
He squeezed my hand.
“And I was scared. Scared that if you knew how heavy my responsibility was, you’d leave me. That you’d see my family as a burden. So I carried it alone… every night… so that in the morning, you’d still see her looking normal.”
I broke down completely and hugged him.
How selfish I had been.
While I complained about lack of affection, my husband was destroying himself caring for his mother. While I suspected betrayal, he was protecting both his mother’s dignity and our marriage.
“I’m sorry, Dev… I’ll never leave you,” I cried. “We’re married—for better or worse. We share everything. Even this.”
From that day on, everything changed.
I stopped doubting. Every night, Dev and I entered Mrs. Savita’s room together.
Using my savings, we hired a specialist. We learned she suffered from Sundowning Syndrome and PTSD, rooted in childhood trauma. With proper treatment and medication, her attacks became less frequent.
Sometimes, on calm nights, Mrs. Savita would hold my hand and whisper,
“Thank you, my child… thank you for loving my son.”
Sometimes she didn’t even recognize me—but her words still reached my heart.
I learned that marriage isn’t just romance and happiness. True love means accepting each other’s baggage. And sometimes, the secrets our spouses keep aren’t born from betrayal—but from deep love and fear of losing us.
Today, Dev and I are stronger than ever.
Because I now know—
A man who loves his mother this deeply is a man who will give everything he has for his wife.