I sat in my room, looking at the award I received just yesterday—Entrepreneur of the Year. People know me as the owner of Radha Hotels, a nationwide food chain serving healthy, home-like meals. But no one knows the story behind this success. No one knows the pain, the strength it took to get here.

I opened my diary. Today felt like the right day to share the side of my life no one knew. My diary has always been my best friend. In moments of joy and in days of despair, it has every piece of my heart. I turned to a fresh page and began writing, delving deep into my past.

I am Radha.
I was born into a lower-middle-class family in a small town. I was the eldest of three sisters. My father, was a school teacher, and my mother was a homemaker. They worked hard to raise us with dignity, values, and education—despite financial struggles

When I turned 20, a marriage proposal came from a man named Rakesh, who lived in the city. His family had a good reputation, and they didn’t demand dowry. I wanted to continue my studies, and my father supported that dream. But just then, my grandmother suffered a heart attack. We spent lot of money on her treatment. Pressured by the circumstances and on some family member's advice, my father married me to Rakesh, hoping I'd be in safe hands.

At first, everything seemed fine. Rakesh was caring. My mother-in-law was kind. But soon, they started showing their true colors.

Rakesh began drinking. The abuse started —an insult here, a harsh word there—but then came the nights. He’d come home drunk and hit me. Some mornings, he’d apologize. But the cycle continued. When I confided in my mother-in-law, she simply said, “It’s your responsibility to handle him now.”

Eventually, she too started taunting me—for not bringing dowry.

One day, a neighbor told me Rakesh had always been like this: a known alcoholic, with multiple complaints of eve-teasing. His parents thought marriage would “settle him.” I finally understood—I had been used to preserve their reputation. They believed, because my family was poor, I’d stay silent.

And I did. At least for a while.

Two years later, I gave birth to a beautiful daughter. I prayed Rakesh would change. Instead, he worsened. I focused on my child and promised to raise her to never depend on anyone. But when my second daughter was born, the abuse turned into hatred. My mother-in-law cursed me for bearing two girls.

I wanted to leave—but where would I go? I had no support, and two little daughters to feed.

Then came that night.

Rakesh had fought with a colleague. He stormed into the house, drunk and raging. He began shouting, abusing his colleague by name. Our daughters were terrified. I gently asked him to lower his voice—for their sake.

That triggered him.

He hit me. And when our elder daughter—only 10—tried to protect me, he hit her too.

In that moment, something inside me hit me hard. I stood up and slapped him 4-5 times. My in-laws came rushing in. I warned them: “Touch me or my daughters again, and I’ll call the police. I’ll scream till the neighbors hear.”

That night, I packed a small bag, took my daughters, and left the house.

I checked into a modest hotel for two nights. I didn’t have a plan, only some jewellery and cash my parents had given me.

And then I remembered Sushma—a close friend from my hometown, now living in the same city. I called her and told her everything.

She listened silently, then said,
“Radha, I’m so sorry for what you’ve endured. But listen, you have magic in your hands. I still remember your cooking from college—it was delicious! Why not start a tiffin service? Take a small apartment near a college or office. You can work from home and raise your girls.”

For the first time in years, I felt hope. Maybe I could do something.

With Sushma’s help, I found a small apartment near a college. Orders started slowly, but they came. And then more. And more. I hired two women to help me. I told my father everything. He cried and blamed himself. But I asked him to visit me, to see how far I’d come.Meanwhile, I also got divorced from Rakesh.

Five years later, I opened my first small restaurant. And there was no turning back.

Today, Radha Hotels operates in multiple cities across the country. I employ mostly women to help people who’ve suffered like me.

Just then, my daughter called out,
“Ma, come down! We have something for you!”

I closed my diary, gently.
I want people to know my story—not for fame, but to send a message:

An abuser will abuse you for as long as you let them. Don’t stay silent. Don’t accept it as your fate. Trust yourself and fight for your dreams.

I stepped into the hall. My daughters stood beside a beautiful cake. My staff clapped and cheered.

Looking around, I felt something stronger than pride—peace.
I was no longer just a survivor, but also an independent woman, a woman who finally wrote her own story.