When I said “yes” to marriage, I thought I was saying yes to love, to freedom, to building my own story. I said yes to a man I met online, going against my family’s wishes. I thought I was choosing my own happiness. Instead, I walked into a storm that nearly destroyed me.
I wasn’t naïve—just a dreamer. The girl who scribbled poems in hidden diaries, who believed that with enough love, any crack could be filled. But life doesn’t bend to dreams. It breaks you first, just to see if you can rebuild.
After marriage, the fairytale cracked too soon. The man I loved turned distant, indifferent. His family—especially my mother-in-law—reminded me daily that I was an outsider, a burden. Every conversation circled back to how much they had spent on my wedding. Every argument ended with the same words. Every few days, the number changed—sometimes they said 5 lakhs, next time 6 lakhs, sometimes even 7 lakhs—depending on their mood. Every time I was alone, it became a fresh excuse to remind me I was nothing but a burden they had “invested” in.
Loneliness became my closest companion. I was scared of being alone, yet I felt completely isolated in a house full of people. To escape, I did the only thing I could—I started looking for a job. I found an opportunity and grabbed it, not just for income, but to keep myself alive inside.
Then came the darkest chapter.
During the pandemic, I lost both my parents—two days apart. I was there. I held their hands. I watched them slip away. I saw the light leave their eyes while I stood helpless, broken in the middle of crowded hospital corridors. My world, my safe corner, vanished in front of me.
And in the days that followed, I realized something horrifying—no one in my married home mourned with me. Grief turned into math. Their only concern was the cost of last rites, the food served, the travel expenses.
I was more alone than I ever imagined possible.
When it came to starting a family, the blame always fell on me. I had done every test, every check-up, and every report came back normal. But he never agreed to visit a doctor, never wanted to get himself tested. In that house, it was easier to blame the woman, to make me feel broken for something that was never even my fault.
When they saw how much I spent on my medical checkups, somewhere even they realized the problem was with their son. My mother-in-law shouting at my husband… he ignored everything, brushed aside every suggestion. He never liked listening to anyone—not the doctors, not the family, not even me.
Then one day, my husband adopted a dog. Before that, he barely had time for me—but now, every moment revolved around the dog. His every care, every emotion was reserved for it—what it would eat, if it was sick, what it needed. I became invisible in my own marriage, a silent shadow watching him display kindness I had forgotten even existed. That’s when I realized: many people know how to love a pet but forget to love the person beside them. Care should never be selective—kindness should not stop at animals while ignoring humans. Love, respect, and dignity are basic needs for everyone.
One night, after everyone slept, I sat on the balcony, staring at the empty sky. I asked myself a question: “If I vanished tomorrow, would anyone care?”
And something inside me answered: “You have to care.”
That night, for the first time in years, I said yes again—not to anyone else, but to myself.
Yes—to walking away from people who counted my worth in rupees.
Yes—to leaving a house that called me a liability, not family.
Yes—to rebuilding my life from ashes, even if it meant starting from zero.
I packed my broken heart and returned to an even more broken home. My parents were gone, my family shattered. But for the first time in years, no one was there to silence my voice.
I started writing again—every struggle, every scar. I juggled odd jobs, took online classes, try to build a small business to survive. Some nights I cried so hard my chest hurt, but every morning I whispered, “You said yes to yourself—keep going.”
I stood alone, but for the first time, I didn’t feel lonely. My words found people. My strength found me. Slowly, I turned the girl who used to hide behind silence into a woman who tells her story aloud.
Today, I’m not in a fairytale. I don’t have a prince. I don’t even have my parents. But I have peace. I have courage. I have freedom.
Someone once asked me, “If you could go back, would you still say yes to that marriage?”
And I smiled and said, “Yes—because that yes taught me the power of saying yes to myself.”
Sometimes, the wrong yes will break you… but it can also build you into someone so strong, even life can’t bend you anymore.
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