Mr. Raghav – sixty years old – had spent his entire life in a poor village in Uttar Pradesh, working in the fields year-round and striving to give his three children a good education.
His youngest daughter, Anika, was his greatest pride. She was obedient, intelligent, beautiful, and well-mannered.
Years earlier, Anika had passed the university entrance exam and secured a job as an accountant at a major company in New Delhi. There, she met and fell in love with Arjun – a city boy from a wealthy family whose parents owned a successful business. When they announced their marriage, Mr.
Raghav’s face revealed his worry. – “They’re so rich, will they truly value our child?” – he often said to his wife. But Anika would smile gently, holding her father’s hand:
– “Father, Arjun’s family has wealth, but he is kind and genuine.
Please trust me. I will live happily as your daughter-in-law.”
Out of love for her, Mr. Raghav saved for years and sold part of his farmland to host a proper wedding.
The groom’s family arranged a lavish ceremony at a luxury hotel in New Delhi, like something from a Bollywood film. When they sent Anika to her husband’s home, they cried yet still said:
– “Even if life is hard, endure it as long as you love each other. Everything will pass.”
After marriage, Anika seldom returned to the village.
Sometimes she claimed to be busy at work, other times she said visiting was inconvenient. Whenever he called, Mr. Raghav asked:
– “Are you okay?
I’m worried about you.”
Anika always replied:
– “I’m fine, Dad. Don’t worry.”
One day, Mr. Raghav and his wife, Mrs.
Savitri, decided to visit her in New Delhi unannounced. They brought along home-raised chickens, fresh vegetables, and jars of pickles made by Mrs. Savitri – gifts of their love.
When the taxi stopped before a grand three-storey mansion in Gurgaon, they were stunned.
The gate opened automatically, and a maid greeted them. Mr. Raghav smiled faintly:
– “Our child must be happy living here…”
But the moment he entered, his smile faded.
Anika descended the stairs, her face pale. She rushed forward:
– “Mom, Dad… why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
– “We missed you and wanted to see you,” they shared. A sharp voice cut in:
– “Do villagers even know the way here?”
It was Mrs.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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