Chapter 4: The Price of Freedom

The divorce negotiations took place in the living room, each of us on opposite sofas, a low table marking our no man’s land. Priya’s lawyer, a tired man with a thick moustache, shuffled papers and tapped his pen.

My uncle used to say, “Aurat ka dil toh Bombay ki baarish hai, kabhi bhi palat sakti hai.” I never believed it—until now.

Priya ignored our history, sticking to legalities. She quoted Hindu Marriage Act sections, voice steady but hands trembling. She wanted more property, claiming I’d cheated. Her lawyer nodded, murmuring about “mental cruelty” and “compensation.” I clenched my jaw, swallowing my anger.

I told myself—everything was earned by me. If I gave her more, what would I have left? Pride and reputation, already stained.

When talks stalled, I offered: “Priya, all cash and assets at home go to you—I don’t want a rupee. But the company shares stay with me. Theek hai?”

A beat of silence passed. Priya exchanged a glance with her lawyer, her jaw steeling itself. The tension prickled. I pretended to look hurt, but inside, I was already dreaming of the IPO.

Neha tugged at my sleeve, worried. In our room, she pouted, “Rohit bhaiya, yeh sab kuch kaise de doge?” Her innocence was touching. I laughed softly, explaining my plan—fifty lakhs stashed away, company shares worth crores. She relaxed, clinging to my arm.

Back in the living room, Priya drafted the agreement. I smiled to myself—she thought she was winning.

Before I signed, Neha whispered, “Are you sure?” I squeezed her hand. My mind raced—if Priya changed her mind now, I’d lose everything. I rushed to sign.

Freedom tasted sweet. I imagined Neha’s laughter, the smell of baby powder, a new life. My new wife—fourteen years younger. “Wah Rohit, kya jodi hai!”

But Priya’s cold voice shattered my celebration: “You two, get out.”

Her words rang like a slap. Neha’s cheeks flushed, her fingers dug into her suitcase handle. I remembered promising her a bungalow. Now, I felt like a fraud.

Priya’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Never lived in a bungalow before, still want to enjoy it? This house is mine now. If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police.”

Neha tried to sound brave—“One day, my husband will buy me one ten times bigger.” Her bangles clinked as she stormed out. I glared at Priya, then followed.

Ten years—gone with the click of a door. I felt light, almost dizzy. The air outside was different, but inside, something precious slipped away. Still, I focused on what lay ahead.