I had only been a bride for two days.

The wedding had been hurried, but warm and full of blessings. My husband, Rohit, was someone I had loved since our university years. After years of on-and-off romance, arguments, and reconciliations, I truly believed I had chosen the right man. He was kind, gentle, patient — and his mother, Aunty Kamala, always seemed to genuinely like me.

That morning, as I was arranging our things in our new room, I heard her voice from downstairs:

“Daughter-in-law, come down for a minute!”

I quickly ran down.

Standing in the middle of the living room was a young woman around my age, visibly pregnant. She wore a simple maternity dress, her face pale, but her eyes strangely radiant.

Before I could ask anything, my mother-in-law was already explaining:

“Oh, this is Rohit’s distant cousin from our village. She came to the city for a prenatal checkup and decided to stop by. As the new daughter-in-law, why don’t you prepare something nutritious for her?”

I nodded, a little surprised but still obliging. I thought to myself: this is what a good daughter-in-law does — she smiles, she cooks, she doesn’t question too much. I decided to make lotus seed chicken soup, something my mother-in-law loved and that was perfect for pregnant women.

While checking the ingredients, I realized I had forgotten to buy soy sauce. Without it, the flavor wouldn’t be right. I rushed upstairs to grab my wallet.

But just as I reached the top of the stairs, I froze.

From the living room below, I heard hushed voices. Rohit’s voice.

“I told you I’d handle this slowly…”

Then the girl’s voice, sharp and trembling:

“But you’ve been silent for two months. Did you think I’d just abort it? I’m showing now. I’m not leaving. Your mother already promised me a place in this house.”

And then, my mother-in-law’s voice, stern but low:

“Don’t make noise. That girl upstairs — the new wife — doesn’t know anything yet. I said you’re his cousin, and that’s how it stays. Once you’ve given birth to my grandchild, we’ll sort out the rest.”

My knees weakened.

His ex-girlfriend? Pregnant?
And his mother knew all along?

And here I was, in the kitchen, about to make nourishing soup for the woman carrying my husband’s child.

I walked back to the kitchen like a ghost, without my wallet, without a single coherent thought in my head. I collapsed into a chair, hands trembling.

Flashes filled my mind — the wedding ceremony, Rohit’s loving eyes as he held my hand at the mandap, his mother proudly introducing me to relatives:

“Our daughter-in-law is so talented, so kind…”

All of it — a lie.

I picked up my phone and messaged my father:

“Papa, please come pick me up. I need to go home. Now.”

Less than 30 minutes later, my father arrived.

I didn’t say a word to anyone. I walked silently to our room and began packing my things. Rohit sat on the stairs, confused and stunned.

“What are you doing? What’s going on?”

I didn’t answer. I only said one sentence:

“You and your mother are impressive manipulators. But I’m not stupid.”

I lifted my suitcase and walked past the man I once believed would hold my hand for life.

At the door, my mother-in-law tried to stop me:

“Dear, wait. This is just a misunderstanding — let’s talk.”

I pulled my hand away and smiled bitterly:

“You lie well. But I’m not foolish enough to cook soup for the woman carrying my husband’s baby.”

And I walked out into the harsh afternoon sun.

At my parents’ home, I collapsed into a whirlwind of silence. My mother wept. My father held my hand tightly, didn’t ask questions. He just said:

“You’re home now. Nothing else matters. You followed your heart — and that’s enough.”

I don’t know what the future holds. I don’t know how this marriage will end. But I do know this:

I did the right thing.

I cannot live in a home built on deceit — where I was meant to unknowingly raise someone else’s child, while smiling for the sake of appearances.

I’m a woman. I know how to love, how to give —
But not to be used.