The Silent Retreat wasn’t a vacation or a spiritual getaway—it was the quiet, growing distance in Anand and Sheela’s marriage. And the silence had started long before he ever walked out the door.
Sheela prided herself on being the one in control. To her, a perfect marriage meant that everything had to be just right—and she would ensure that it was, no matter the cost. Anand, her husband, had learned this lesson the hard way. From the moment they got married, Sheela had made it clear: everything would go her way.
“Anand, how many times do I have to tell you? You don’t get to decide what we’re having for dinner!” she snapped, her voice echoing through the house. “Just follow what I say, and things will be smooth. Is that so difficult?”
Anand, with a defeated sigh, placed the groceries she had rejected back in the bag. Over time, he had learned not to argue, but the weight of her control suffocated him. It wasn’t just about dinner—it was about everything. What clothes he wore, which friends they could meet, how he spent his weekends—Sheela made every decision.
Sheela was not one to tolerate mistakes, especially not from Anand. The smallest slip-up would lead to an outburst. If he forgot to do something exactly the way she wanted, she would tear into him with sharp words. “I don’t understand why you even try if you can’t follow simple instructions,” she would say, her voice laced with disdain.
Anand lived in constant fear of her anger. Each day, he tiptoed around her, anxious to avoid provoking her wrath. She expected immediate obedience, and when he hesitated or disagreed, her intolerance would flare up. “You are incapable of even the smallest things! What’s the point of discussing anything with you?” she’d scoff.
But it was not the yelling that wore Anand down the most—it was the absence of warmth. There were no conversations, only commands. No shared laughter, only tension. No affection, only expectations. Over time, Anand stopped trying to connect. His silence became his shield.
One evening, after another exhausting day of bending to her will, Anand returned home late from work. He had forgotten to inform Sheela, caught up in an important meeting. As soon as he stepped through the door, her fury was unleashed.
“Where were you?” she demanded, her arms crossed and eyes blazing with anger. “Do you think you can just come and go as you please? This is my house, and you will follow my rules!”
“I was caught up in—” Anand began, but Sheela cut him off.
“Don’t give me excuses! You’ve become careless. I will not tolerate this!” she shouted. “If you can’t even inform me, maybe you shouldn’t come home at all!”
Her words, like daggers, struck Anand deeply. He had spent years trying to please her, obeying her every command, but her anger had only grown more unbearable. That night, after Sheela fell asleep, he lay awake staring at the ceiling. The silence between them wasn’t temporary—it had become permanent. The silent retreat of his heart had already begun.
Days turned into weeks. Anand stopped speaking unless spoken to. He no longer offered input, no longer shared opinions. He simply followed instructions, moving through life like a ghost in his own home. Sheela noticed, but instead of softening, she mistook his withdrawal for laziness, even defiance.
Then, one ordinary morning, Anand packed a small bag and left. No drama, no arguments—just a note on the table. When Sheela returned and found it, her world crumbled.
She read the note with trembling hands:
“You never cared to listen. You wanted obedience, not love. You silenced me until there was nothing left but emptiness. Now, this silence is yours to keep.”
In that moment, Sheela finally understood what she had done. Her obsession with control had driven the only person who once loved her into the silent retreat—a retreat so deep that not even apologies could call him back.
She had won every argument, controlled every detail, and imposed her will in every corner of their life—but in the process, she had lost him. Truly and completely.
From then on, Sheela lived in a quiet house. The TV played in the background, but there was no one to laugh at her jokes, no one to argue back, no one to share even the silence with. The silent retreat she had forced upon Anand had become her own reality.
And now, it was far too late to speak.