Pranati had always dreamed of a peaceful life after marriage, but reality was far from what she imagined. Her husband, Vishal, was a man of few words but many rules. The smallest mistake—an undercooked roti, a misplaced shirt, or an untidy living room—would make him explode in anger. His shouting echoed through their home like thunder, and over the years, Pranati learned to silently obey.
Each day, she anticipated his moods, trying to avoid anything that might spark his temper. She cooked his favourite meals, kept the house spotless, and dressed in the way he liked. But no matter how hard she tried, Vishal always found something wrong. She was trapped in a life where pleasing him became her sole purpose, and any hint of joy in her heart faded away.
To the outside world, Pranati seemed like the perfect wife. She smiled at family gatherings and nodded along when people praised Vishal’s disciplined ways. But inside, her spirit was breaking. Her soul felt heavy, as if the weight of her silent suffering was too much to bear. She longed for freedom, but how could she leave? What would people say?
One afternoon, unable to hold it in any longer, Pranati visited her younger sister, Aarti. Sitting in Aarti’s small, cheerful living room, Pranati’s carefully constructed facade crumbled. For the first time in years, she spoke freely about her life.
“Aarti, I don’t know how much longer I can live like this,” Pranati whispered, her voice trembling. “Vishal’s anger controls everything. I can’t make a single move without fearing his outbursts. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be happy.”
Aarti looked at her sister with concern. “Pranati, you don’t have to live like this. You deserve better. Have you ever told him how you feel?”
Pranati shook her head. “He won’t listen. He thinks his anger is what keeps the house running. But every day, I feel like I’m losing a part of myself. I can’t take it anymore.”
Days turned into weeks, and Pranati’s internal turmoil deepened. She felt trapped in her own home, suffocated by Vishal’s constant anger. She began avoiding eye contact with him, withdrawing into herself. The warmth in their relationship—if it had ever existed—was completely gone.
Then, one morning, something unimaginable happened.
Vishal came home from work to find Pranati lying unconscious in their bedroom. Beside her was an empty bottle of sleeping pills. Panicked, he rushed her to the hospital. As he sat in the waiting room, his mind raced. How could this have happened? Pranati, the perfect wife, had always been so quiet, so obedient. He never thought she would reach such a point.
When the doctor informed him that Pranati was critical, Vishal felt a heaviness in his chest that he had never experienced before. Guilt washed over him. In all his efforts to control his home, he had pushed his wife to the brink of despair.
Later, sitting by Pranati’s bedside, Vishal looked at her pale face and realized the damage he had caused. His anger had made her obedient, but it had also destroyed her spirit. She had become a prisoner in her own life, and now, even her survival was hanging in balance.
Pranati’s silent and lifeless face was crying much louder
than the voice of Vishal’s apology. He realized that it was, probably, too
late. The trust, the connection, the love—everything was shattered. And for the
first time, he felt a deep sadness for the life he had ruined.