Chapter 6: The Last Threshold

I still had a few shops left, ones I had set up years ago but that Arvind now managed. The managers were old family retainers, but in recent years, they reported to Arvind’s men.

“Madam wants to take back the shops? That’s wonderful! When you were in charge, business was better!” Dubey ji, the jewellery shop manager, beamed as he handed over the account books, only hesitating with one. His tiny office was cramped, the faded calendar of Lord Ganesha hanging above a whirring table fan that stirred up dust in the summer heat.

“This is for Teacher Lata. She owes us a lot. Sir said... just forget it!” He looked away, ashamed.

I opened the book. Lata Singh had treated the shop like her own, running up bills worth over a lakh. So much for her humility.

“What Arvind says doesn’t count. Record it all. When the time comes, make her pay!” I said sharply. Dubey ji grinned, relief all over his face. “That’s great!”

I took an auto home, the city heat thick with humidity. Arvind was waiting in the driveway, arms folded, face thunderous.

“The maids reported you took back the shops. What are you doing? Planning to split the family?”

I walked past him, not dignifying his words with a reply.

He called after me, anger rising. “Shalini, after all these years, you are still so jealous and overbearing! I just want a second wife, and you stir up trouble, disturbing the household!”

That night, Arvind shifted his bedding to the study, slamming the door behind him. I said nothing, quietly packing with Nisha, sorting my saris and jewellery, preparing to move to the new flat after today.

In the afternoon, I went to the dining room, hunger gnawing at my stomach.

I stopped short. Lata Singh and Arvind were seated together, Ishaan and Meera below, all four chatting and laughing like a perfect family. The TV played some old Doordarshan serial in the background. I did not want to disturb them.

Arvind, noticing me, called out coldly. “Come eat. What are you pretending for?”

Ishaan stood up eagerly. “Mummy, Papa has already requested a decree for stepmother. We are all family!”

He had already accepted her. Meera piped up, “Yes, mummy, sit down. Why are you angry? There are many days ahead!”

Lata Singh quietly ate, glancing up at me with a slow, sly smile. For the first time, I felt as if the air itself had turned icy, even as the July sun blazed outside, sweat trickling down my back.

At that moment, a message pinged on Arvind’s phone. He read it, face inscrutable.

“Court order has arrived!”

My heart skipped a beat. Was it my aunt’s work, or Arvind’s petition?

Arvind hurried over, grabbing my hand—his grip tight, almost painful—and pulled me to the drawing room.

“Come with me, listen well, and control your temper!”

Ishaan and Meera ran in, giggling. “Teacher Lata is going to be our official mother!”

Arvind dragged me to stand before the lawyer, his suit crisp, his manner all business. The lawyer, glancing over his glasses, read out the court order in a practiced mix of English and Hindi:

“From this day forward, Shalini aur Arvind Sharma ka vivaah... dissolved as per the order. The wedding gifts and dowry are to be checked and handed over according to custom, with no disputes. Hereafter, each may marry as they wish, and have nothing to do with each other.”

As the lawyer’s words faded, I realised: this house, these memories, even my own children’s laughter—none of it belonged to me anymore.