My wife Priya and I have been married for six years. We have two young children and live with my parents in Kanpur. I am Babuji’s only son, so he insisted we stay together.
Besides, I work in Noida, and it wouldn’t be safe to leave Priya and the kids alone.
Babuji’s health has been fragile ever since he fell from scaffolding years ago. He can’t do hard labor anymore, so he spends his days cooking, cleaning, and caring for the grandchildren. My mother, Savitri, works in Mumbai as a maid and only visits a few times each year.
When our children were born, Babuji carried the entire weight of childcare so Priya and I could work. Out of respect, I often asked Priya to return home quickly to help, but she always did without complaint. Priya is gentle and capable.
Though coworkers invite her for dinners or movies, she always comes home to cook and bathe the children. I would reassure her, “Just endure for a few more years. Things will get easier once the kids grow.” She nodded, though exhaustion showed in her eyes.
Recently, Priya had begun suffering headaches, dizziness, and fatigue. Once she even vomited at work. I urged her to see a doctor, but she hesitated, worried about missing work and wasting money.
One evening, homesick, I turned on our CCTV camera from Noida. The image stung: Priya asleep on the sofa, the children watching TV, and Babuji cooking alone. I almost called to scold her, but something stopped me.
Priya never shirked her duties. I rewound the footage and heard Babuji tell a visitor that Priya had returned early, sick with a terrible headache, and gone straight to bed. He hushed the children and quietly did all the chores himself.
I put down my phone, ashamed. Later that night I called Priya, who brushed it off as “just a cold.” But I couldn’t rest. The next morning, I took leave from work and rushed back to Kanpur.
After much persuasion, Priya finally agreed to visit the hospital. At SGPGI in Lucknow, the doctor studied her MRI film under harsh white light. His voice was steady, each word like a hammer: “Malignant brain tumor.
Immediate surgery, followed by radiation and chemotherapy. The cost will be in lakhs.”
I clutched Priya’s hand, her cold fingers tightening around mine. Babuji leaned against the wall, trembling.
“Is the surgery dangerous?” he muttered. The doctor nodded. “Weakness, memory loss, speech problems are possible.
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