That day, Meera decided to leave her salon shift early — about an hour and a half ahead of schedule. Her husband, Arjun, was celebrating his birthday, and she had preparations to make.

“Priya, I’m heading out early today. It’s Arjun’s birthday, okay?” Meera told her coworker, casually removing her apron and shaking off a few stray hairs.

Priya barely glanced up, still curling a regular client’s hair. But as she saw Meera packing her scissors, she muttered dryly:

“Just watch yourself, Meera. And don’t let that dragon-in-law of yours, Gita Sharma, get inside your head again.”

“I won’t,” Meera smiled back.

Gita Sharma, or “Gargoyle Sharma” as she was nicknamed in whispers, was Arjun’s mother — a woman who could break down the most confident soul with just a glance. And Meera knew that firsthand.

But today wasn’t just Gita’s son’s birthday — it was Meera’s celebration too. She wanted to feel like a cherished wife, if only for one day. So she bent over backwards to ensure everything was perfect.

Including picking up the exact cake that Gita herself had selected for her “dear Arju.” Gita couldn’t go herself — doctor’s orders, of course — but Meera? She’s young. She can handle it, right?

---

As Meera stepped onto the city bus, her phone buzzed.

“Hi jaanu,” Arjun’s syrupy voice oozed through the line. “Just wanted to say — I invited Lalita and Manish over. Hope that’s okay?”

Meera’s stomach dropped. Of course it wasn’t okay.

Lalita was Arjun’s ex-wife.

And Manish? Arjun’s current boss — and Lalita’s second husband.

But with a promotion to department head on the horizon, Meera swallowed the bitter lump in her throat.

“Okay… let them come,” she replied in a flat tone.

Arjun sensed the chill. “Meera, don’t start. My relationship with Lalita ended years ago. But Manish is important for my career. This dinner matters.”

“And you know your cooking is my secret weapon. You’re amazing.”

That compliment — as always — worked like magic. Meera softened, smiled, and agreed:

“Alright, Arjun. It’s your special day.”

---

Lalita, Manish, and Arjun all worked at the same firm. Arjun had once been a junior procurement officer, married to the company’s accountant, Lalita. But when the charming new CEO Manish arrived, Lalita left Arjun for him without hesitation.

That was nearly eight years ago.

Arjun was devastated. His only source of comfort? The kind and listening ear of his regular hairstylist — Meera.

It was in that salon chair that the seeds of their new relationship were planted. Meera, with her therapist-like instincts and soft heart, couldn’t help but fall for the man who shared such honest pain.

And Arjun — perhaps grateful, perhaps lonely — embraced her love.

But Meera never truly knew if he loved her back… or simply loved being loved again.

Especially when at corporate parties, she noticed Lalita still casting long, lingering glances toward Arjun — and worse, noticed Arjun often stealing glances at Lalita too.

---

That evening, Meera reached their third-floor flat in Pune with the massive cake in hand — the very one Gita had selected.

As she struggled to unlock the door, her neighbor, red-haired Seema, burst out from the stairwell, nearly knocking the cake out of Meera’s hands.

“Whoa, whoa! Watch it, Seema!” Meera snapped.

“Sorry, Meera! Gosh, don’t be so touchy. Still working at the salon? Or did your saasu maa finally convince you to quit?” Seema teased.

“Gita Sharma said you ruined her hair last time. Said you ‘butchered her like a street dog!’” she cackled, then hurried off, leaving Meera red with rage.

Still fuming, Meera entered the apartment and carefully placed the cake on the side table.

She tried to push all thoughts aside — it was Arjun’s birthday. It had to be a happy day.

She prepped the table, roasted potatoes with masala pork, laid out fresh salads, and carefully garnished her signature Mimosa salad.

Right as she placed the last sprig of coriander on top, the front door slammed open.

Gita Sharma stormed in, dragging a muddy-faced Chetan, Meera and Arjun’s first-grader son.

“Here — take your little menace! He was sliding down the hill like a monkey and tore his backpack to shreds! Like mother, like son!”

Chetan looked sheepish and tried to hide the backpack.

Meera sighed.

“We’ll deal with him later. Go wash up, Chetan. Dinner soon.”

As her son scampered off, Gita launched into her next attack.

“You spoil him! That’s why he’s wild. First it’s mischief, then disrespect, then he’ll be in jail by 25!”

Meera stared at her mother-in-law, jaw clenched.

“Enough, Gita-ji. We’ll discipline him later. Right now, I want to know why you’re complaining about your haircut to Seema.”

“Because it was terrible!” Gita barked. “And what kind of job is that anyway — a hairdresser? Be smart, become an accountant like Lalita. She turned Manish into a company director!”

“And what have you done? Dragged Arjun into mediocrity.”

Meera stood frozen — cheeks flushed, eyes blazing.

Suddenly, the front door opened again.

In walked Arjun… with Lalita.

“Surprise, everyone! We’re here!”

Lalita, in a designer kurti and bold red lipstick, swayed into the living room like she owned it. Arjun followed like a puppy.

“Manish got stuck in a meeting, so I picked her up. Meera, sweetheart, make us some coffee?”

Lalita barely glanced at Meera.

“Hi.” A nod. That’s all.

Then she grabbed Arjun’s hand and led him to the couch — past the beaming Gita, who chirped:

“Lalita beta, you look like a Bollywood diva! What a color on you! Tell me, what did you get Arju for his birthday?”

“Oh, just a laptop — latest model,” Lalita smiled.

Meera stood aside, forgotten, invisible.

Then came Arjun’s voice again:

“Meera! Coffee?”

Meera pulled him into the kitchen.

“You want coffee?” she hissed. “You could’ve had it at a café with your darling Lalita.”

“Your mom just dumped half my food in the trash, Arjun.”

“Please, Margo…” he muttered. “Let’s not fight. I’ll help with the table.”

But the real sting came moments later.

From the living room came Lalita’s voice:

“Ugh, Gita-ji, what is this? We should’ve booked a restaurant.”

“What even is this salad? It looks like it was scraped off a sidewalk!”

That was Meera’s Mimosa salad.

Just as Meera stepped into the living room to defend her work, Gita jabbed her hard in the ribs.

“Are you deaf? Clear this mess! Re-do everything!”

And then — without hesitation — Gita Sharma grabbed the trash bin and dumped all of Meera’s carefully prepared food into it.

Only the Mimosa salad remained — now looking like a crater after Gita’s furious fork-digging.

Meera saw red.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?”

She yanked Gita’s arm.

“If you don’t like it, LEAVE. And take your precious ex-daughter-in-law with you!”

SLAP.

Gita hit her hard across the face.

Tears welled up instantly, but Meera didn’t flinch.

Instead, she punched her mother-in-law square on the nose.

Blood spurted.

Gita screamed:

“ARJUN! HELP! I’m being murdered!”

Arjun ran in, horrified.

But Meera didn’t say a word.

Because as she looked at her husband’s face — smeared with red lipstick from Lalita — she realized something deeper.

She didn’t just lose control of the evening.

She had lost control of her marriage… long ago.

“Go look in the mirror,” she said coldly.

“When did she do it, Arjun? Before the cake? Or after the coffee?