Chapter 7: The Ring That Broke Everything

The next day, when I arrived at the old house, Arjun was there too. I stepped through the tall iron gates, suitcase in hand. The bougainvillea was in full bloom, pink petals scattered on the pathway. Arjun’s car was parked out front—shiny, imposing, a symbol of everything I wanted to leave behind.

He was still as calm and reserved as ever, but I immediately noticed the wedding ring was missing from his finger. He stood on the veranda, hands folded, staring out at the garden. His left hand—bare, except for a pale indentation where the ring had been—caught the morning light. The sight made my heart ache, even though I knew I shouldn’t care anymore.

Only a pale mark remained, reminding me that Arjun was always the one in control of this relationship. That faded line was proof—he could discard our marriage as easily as taking off a ring. I wondered if I had ever meant anything to him at all.

I had no right to be angry. Dadi’s voice echoed in my head, scolding me for being ungrateful. But deep down, I knew I deserved better.

"Little sister, sorry, I came to the old house with Arjun Sir for a free meal~" When Priya walked out from behind Arjun, I was momentarily stunned. She appeared, breezy as ever, her voice dripping with false sweetness. Her hair was loose, framing her face in soft waves. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms.

She wore a turtleneck sweater, but it still couldn’t hide the bright red hickeys on her neck. I stared, unable to look away. The marks were bold, almost defiant. She caught my gaze and smirked, her eyes glinting with triumph.

Priya smiled, "Excuse us, let us go in first~" She took Arjun’s arm, leading him past me. I stepped aside, jaw clenched, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

She glanced at Arjun, "Arjun Sir caught a bit of a chill, I’ll go to the bedroom and get him a coat."

Her concern sounded fake, performative. I watched her walk away, her every move calculated for effect.

"Still want to wear that dark grey trench coat? I think it’s in the third compartment of the wardrobe."

Her voice echoed down the hallway. I remembered how she always knew where everything was, how she made herself indispensable.

"Oh right, your shirt should be ironed too. Take it off later, I’ll take care of it."

I forced a smile, trying not to let my bitterness show. Her familiarity stung more than any insult.

Watching Priya’s graceful figure walk into the old house, I couldn’t help but laugh, "Your secretary really knows you well."

My words dripped with sarcasm, but Arjun didn’t react. He just stared at me, his face a mask of indifference.

Then I called out, pressing my palms together in a half-namaste, pleading, "Please, Arjun, at least tell me the truth. Chote Mama." I hadn’t called him that in years—not since we were kids playing hide and seek in Dadi’s garden. The word slipped out, sharp and accusing.

As soon as I spoke, Arjun’s face turned cold, as if he was holding something back. He stiffened, jaw tightening. I saw the flicker of hurt in his eyes before he looked away.

After a moment, he spoke in a warning tone: "Meera, everything you have was given by the Mehra family." His voice was low, dangerous. He sounded just like Dadi, reminding me of my place. I bristled, refusing to be cowed.

"Otherwise, could you support yourself with just a pet shop?" He sneered, dismissing my dreams with a single sentence. The years I’d spent building my little shop, pouring my heart into caring for stray animals—all reduced to nothing in his eyes.

"Even jealousy has its limits."

He spat the words out, like I was some silly, overdramatic girl. I straightened my shoulders, refusing to let him see my pain.

It was then I realised—the reason he took off his wedding ring and brought Priya back to the old house today was because he was angry that I slapped him and pushed him away last night, and even angrier that I didn’t reply to his messages or try to make up with him. Suddenly, it all made sense. He needed to remind me of my dependence, to punish me for daring to leave. The realization stung, but also set me free.

He was reminding me that everything I had came from him. His words rang in my ears, heavy with threat. But I didn’t care anymore. I was done being afraid.

But he never understood—I never wanted the house or the car in the first place. I thought of Amma’s tiny kitchen, the laughter and chaos of my childhood. Money had never mattered to me—love, respect, those were the things I craved.

I looked at him, took off my wedding ring, and tossed it to the ground. The sunlight caught the gold of my ring as it spun across the verandah, rolling into the grass—gone, like everything else.

The silence was deafening. For a moment, even the birds seemed to pause. Arjun’s face went white, his fists clenched at his sides.

Ignoring Arjun’s furious expression, I walked straight into the living room. I lifted my chin and strode past him, my footsteps echoing through the old house. I felt lighter than I had in years.

"Dadi." I half-squatted, smiling at Dadi in her wheelchair. "I have something to tell you."

I knelt beside her, taking her frail hand in mine. Dadi’s hand tightened around mine, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, and a faint whisper: "Beta, are you sure?" I smiled bravely, ready to face whatever came next.

"I want to divorce Arjun." The words left my lips, clear and steady. For the first time, I felt truly free.

As soon as the words left my mouth, before Dadi could respond, I heard the sound of a teacup shattering at the door—The crash echoed through the hall, sharp and jarring. Everyone turned to look, the tension in the air thick enough to cut.

[Clatter] The cup rolled in slow circles, spilling tea across the floor. My heart thudded, but I kept my gaze steady.

What I saw next was Arjun’s face, drained of all colour. His eyes were wide, lips parted in shock. For once, the mask slipped, and I saw fear—real, raw, and unmistakable. In that moment, I knew I had won my freedom, even if it broke both our hearts.