FOR THREE YEARS, MY HUSBAND SLEPT IN HIS MOTHER’S ROOM EVERY MIDNIGHT — WHEN I SECRETLY FOLLOWED HIM, I DISCOVERED A SACRIFICE THAT BROKE ME TO MY KNEES
Ananya and Rohan had been married for three years.
To the outside world, they were the picture of a perfect Indian couple—quiet, respectful, loving. Rohan was gentle, hardworking, and deeply devoted to his wife. Friends often told Ananya how fortunate she was.
But inside her heart, something had been slowly tearing her apart.
Every night—without fail—between midnight and one in the morning, Rohan would carefully slip out of bed. He would gently remove Ananya’s arms from around him, stand up silently, and leave their bedroom.
He would walk down the narrow hallway of their home on the outskirts of Pune, Maharashtra, and enter his mother’s room—Mrs. Savitri Sharma, who lived with them.
And he would not return until morning.
During the first year of marriage, Ananya tried to be understanding.
“Ma has insomnia,” Rohan had explained softly.
“She gets anxious at night. She needs someone to talk to.”
Ananya believed him.
In the second year, doubt began to creep in.
Was her husband too attached to his mother?
Was he a mama’s boy who couldn’t let go?
By the third year, jealousy and suspicion consumed her. She felt like she was competing with another woman—his own mother—for her husband’s love and attention.
One night, she finally exploded.
“Rohan, why do you sleep in her room every night?” Ananya demanded, her voice shaking.
“I’m your wife. You should be beside me. What do you even do there—talk all night?”
“Ananya, please understand,” Rohan replied, exhaustion carved deep into his face. Dark circles framed his eyes.
“Ma is sick. She needs me.”
“Sick?” Ananya snapped.
“I see her every morning! She watches TV, eats normally, chats with the neighbors! Don’t lie to me. Or is this just an excuse because you don’t want to sleep next to me anymore?”
Rohan didn’t answer.
He simply lowered his head and walked out of the room.
That silence hurt more than any harsh words.
Blinded by anger and suspicion, Ananya made a decision.
She would follow him.
She would uncover the truth—no matter what it was.
That Night
At midnight, just as always, Rohan rose from the bed. Slowly. Carefully. He believed Ananya was asleep.
But in the darkness, her eyes were wide open, watching.
Rohan left the room.
Ananya waited five minutes.
Then she followed him—barefoot, holding her breath, making sure her steps made no sound.
She stopped in front of Mrs. Savitri’s bedroom door.
It was slightly open.
Ananya peered inside, ready to confront them both.
What she saw made her heart stop.
The room was dim, lit only by a small bedside lamp.
Mrs. Savitri—who appeared calm and normal every morning—was tied to the side of the bed with soft cloth restraints. Her body was thrashing violently. Her eyes were wide with terror, her face drenched in sweat, foam gathering at the corners of her mouth.
“Demons! Stay away from me! Don’t kill my son!” she screamed hoarsely.
Rohan was holding his mother tightly, preventing her from hurting herself. His arms were covered in bite marks, scratches, and deep bruises.
“Shhh… Ma, I’m here,” Rohan whispered, stroking her back gently.
“It’s me. Rohan. You’re safe.”
“No! You’re not Rohan!” she screamed, sinking her teeth into his shoulder.
“My son is dead! You killed him!”
Rohan winced in pain—but he did not let go. He did not shout. He did not get angry.
Ananya saw tears streaming down his face as he silently endured the pain inflicted by his own mother.
Moments later, Mrs. Savitri vomited all over Rohan’s clothes. The sour stench reached the doorway. Yet without hesitation, Rohan took a cloth and gently cleaned his mother’s face—then himself. He calmly changed her soiled adult diaper.
Ananya’s knees buckled. She gripped the doorframe to keep herself from collapsing.
After nearly an hour, Mrs. Savitri slowly calmed down. Her violent episode faded into what doctors called a lucid interval.
“R-Rohan?” she whispered weakly.
“Yes, Ma. I’m here.”
She cupped his face and noticed the wounds.
“My son… did I hurt you again?” she sobbed.
“I’m sorry… Please forgive me. Go back to Ananya. Your wife is suffering because of me.”
Rohan shook his head, gently adjusting her blanket.
“No, Ma. I’ll stay here. I don’t want Ananya to see you like this. I don’t want her to be frightened—or burdened with cleaning and caregiving. I’m your son. This is my responsibility. Let her sleep peacefully.”
“But you’re exhausted…” she cried.
“I can do this, Ma,” Rohan replied softly.
“I love both of you. I’ll protect you both—Ananya in the daytime, you at night.”
That Was When Ananya Broke
She opened the door fully and stepped inside.
“Ananya?” Rohan gasped, instinctively trying to hide the stains on his clothes.
“What are you doing here? Go back—this place smells—”
Ananya said nothing.
She walked toward him, dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around his waist, and sobbed uncontrollably.
“I’m sorry…” she cried.
“I’m so sorry, Rohan. I judged you. I thought terrible things about you. I didn’t know… I didn’t know you were carrying all of this alone.”
She turned to Mrs. Savitri, who looked at her with shame-filled eyes.
“Ma,” Ananya said gently, holding her hand.
“You have Sundown Syndrome and dementia, don’t you? That’s why the nights are like this.”
“We didn’t want to trouble you, child,” Mrs. Savitri whispered.
“You’re busy with work. We didn’t want to be a burden.”
“You are not a burden,” Ananya said firmly.
She stood up, brought warm water and a towel, and personally cleaned the remaining stains from Rohan’s arms and Mrs. Savitri’s face.
“Rohan,” Ananya said softly as she wiped his wounds,
“You’ve carried this alone for three years. From now on, there are two of us. I’m your wife—in sickness and in health. That includes caring for Ma.”
“But Ananya—”
“No ‘but’,” she interrupted.
“We’ll take turns. Or we’ll hire a nurse. But you will never do this alone again.”
Rohan held her tightly. For the first time in three years, he felt real rest.
From that night on, Mrs. Savitri’s condition was no longer a secret. They faced it together—as husband and wife.
And Ananya finally understood:
Love isn’t measured only by sweet moments and romantic dates.
Sometimes, love is staying awake through the darkest, messiest, most painful nights—
so the people you love can sleep in peace.