I am the only son in my family. My wife, Priya, is an accountant, excellent at managing money—so good that she controlled even my salary like public funds. Every month after work, I was given “pocket money” like a primary school student.

For two years of living together, I didn’t dare send a single rupee back home to my parents in the village. Every time I brought it up, my wife would sulk: “With a ₹13,000 salary, paying for the child, school fees, rent, food, isn’t enough, and you still want to send money home? Did they ever earn anything for you there?” I could only remain silent.

My mother would occasionally call, her voice still soft as if afraid to bother me: “It’s okay, son. Your father and I can still grow vegetables; don’t worry.” But then my mother fell ill, paralyzed on one side due to a stroke. At that moment, I could only plead with my wife: “Please, let’s go visit my mother in the village. I can go alone if I have to…” Perhaps out of pity or fear of what others might say, my wife drove me to the village in her car, as if granting a favor.

Upon arriving, her face was cold and unapproachable. She stood a distance from my mother’s bed, without lighting incense, without asking questions, only telling me: “I’ll wait in the car. Call me if you need anything.” My mother lay there, her hand still trembling as she fumbled for something in her pillow, handing it to me: “Tomorrow, make sure everyone is here… I want to divide the land and the house… just in case I don’t have enough time.” I swallowed my tears.

My mother was poor, but the 6-meter-wide plot of land facing the road, near the market, was now worth over ₹50 lakhs (approximately $60,000 USD). The next day, relatives and siblings gathered.

My mother pointed to each person, clearly dividing the land. Everyone nodded, touched, with no disputes. When it came to my turn, my mother unexpectedly pulled out a property deed — not for the land we were currently on, but for another plot about 1km away, completely new.

The whole family was surprised. I was bewildered. My mother said: “I bought this with my savings when I was healthy. I intended to leave it for my youngest child. But now… I’ve changed my mind.” My mother pointed directly at my wife: “Daughter-in-law, come here.” My wife stepped forward, somewhat confident — thinking her mother-in-law was showing her affection, but little did she know… “Do you know that for two years, Rahul (my name in this context) didn’t dare send me a single rupee for fear of your scolding? I lay bedridden, and you only came to visit, standing there like a stranger.

If you disrespect me so much, don’t expect to receive anything from me.” Then she turned to me, choked with emotion: “I will still leave it to you, my son. But not now. When she is no longer your wife — then come back here and claim it.” My wife froze. Her face turned pale. Relatives buzzed with whispers. I didn’t dare look up at anyone. After that day, my wife’s attitude completely changed. She started cooking, asking about my mother, and even offered to bring her to Delhi (a major city) to care for her. But I knew — my mother would not be easily swayed again.