Meera discovered that her husband, Rajiv, had secretly purchased a brand-new car for his mistress—a luxury vehicle worth nearly ₹2 crore, registered in the young woman’s name.
Not through detective work.
Not via a GPS tracker.
Just a bank notification that accidentally pinged her phone—because Rajiv had forgotten to remove her from their old joint account.
She didn’t scream.
Didn’t cry.
Didn’t call him in for a “discussion.”
She simply picked up an elegant invitation card that had once been mailed to Rajiv—a grand opening for a beauty clinic.
On the card, written in ornate gold letters:
“We joyfully invite the future in-laws to celebrate this special day with us.”
Right there, at the bottom, was a phone number.
It belonged to the mistress’s parents.
Meera dialed it.
Calmly. Politely. She said only one sentence:
“Good evening, Uncle and Aunty. I’m Meera—Rajiv Sharma’s legal wife. Three days ago, Rajiv gifted your daughter a car worth nearly ₹2 crore. If you need any documentation to declare the asset for tax purposes, I have the original papers ready.”
Three days later.
Rajiv burst through the door like a man possessed, soaked in sweat, gasping for breath:
“Did you… did you call Anjali’s parents?! Oh God, Meera… you won’t believe it—they forced her to return the car! They’re furious! They called her a ‘homewrecker’ and said I manipulated a young girl!
They’re threatening to file a case against me for luring someone’s daughter!
I… I was wrong… please, Meera, help me…”
Meera poured a glass of water and placed it in front of him.
Her voice calm, almost emotionless:
“I didn’t say anything out of turn. I just helped improve family communication. Adults should play fair, don’t you think?”
Rajiv lowered his head in shame.
His phone buzzed again.
It was “Anjali.” He didn’t dare answer.
On the table lay the divorce papers—neatly signed and ready.
Beside them, a bank statement showing every rupee of the transfer for the car—clear, crisp, and complete.
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