Chapter 3: The Forgotten Daughter

By the time news of the divorce reached my parents, we had already signed the papers.

Their shock was real, but it wasn’t about my happiness—it was about what people would say, how the neighbours would gossip over morning chai. Amma’s gold bangles clinked angrily as she demanded answers, while Baba paced the hall in silence.

Rohan didn’t treat me unfairly—he gave me half of his family property.

A settlement like that only happens in high-profile Mumbai families. But money can’t buy peace of mind. Instead, it just sharpened the accusations.

My parents called me home overnight to our Bandra bungalow.

They didn’t even wait for sunrise. I arrived, suitcase in hand, dazed, to find the whole family assembled—Amma, Baba, and Priya, all waiting like a panchayat. I barely set down my bag before the questions started.

They interrogated me as if I were a criminal, wanting to know why I was so heartless to take half of Rohan’s assets.

“Tanvi, yeh kaise sanskaar diye maine tumhe? Paison ke liye shaadi ki thi kya?”

Amma’s voice was sharp, her eyes full of hurt pride. Baba just shook his head, disappointment in every line of his face. In that moment, I felt truly alone—no one saw the real story behind the headlines.

Priya stood to the side on crutches, tears running down her cheeks.

She looked so fragile, her hair tied back, dressed in a pale salwar kameez. The bandage on her leg was a constant reminder of her tragedy, and her tears made her look even more pitiable. I almost felt guilty for being angry.

“Tanvi, are you blaming me? Blaming me for taking Rohan away as soon as I came back…”

Before she could finish, my parents interrupted.

“Rohan should have been your husband! If you hadn’t been so stubborn and run away, you’d have a child by now!”

The usual refrain—“log kya kahenge”—hung heavy in the air. Amma’s voice trembled, Baba banged his hand on the table. Sometimes, I wondered if they even remembered I was their daughter too.

Priya loved Rohan, but she loved dance even more.

Not long after accepting Rohan’s proposal, she received an invitation from a famous dance troupe in London.

That offer was her golden ticket, and she took it without looking back. I still remember the excitement in her eyes, the way she twirled around the living room when the news came. Our lives changed with a single phone call from abroad.

She left Rohan without a second thought and went overseas.

For three years, she and Rohan were almost completely out of touch.

Until that night, when Rohan’s phone rang with an overseas call.

He steadied his breathing, answering with me right beside him.

Because I was close, I could clearly hear the crying female voice on the other end.

Rohan froze.

One second… five… ten…

A full thirty seconds before he reacted, grabbed a towel, and rushed out.

That night, he never came back.

The next day, I learned from my parents that Priya had had an accident while dancing and broken her leg.

Rohan personally brought her home.

Though she stayed at my parents’ place, anything related to Priya, Rohan handled himself.

Because of this, my parents gave me a special talk:

“Don’t take it to heart. Your sister can’t dance anymore—she’s upset, only Rohan can comfort her!”

I nodded, feeling invisible, fading into the background like the peeling paint in the living room. In Indian families, there’s always a golden child—the one who gets comforted, protected, and forgiven for everything.

My parents had always favoured Priya.

She was beautiful, got good marks, and was talented in singing and dance.

I was just a bookworm—boring, not good at making people happy.

Everyone revolved around the injured Priya.

Including my husband.

He gradually lost patience with me.

One evening, he promised to pick me up but left me waiting in the monsoon rain for two hours.

I stood under a flimsy umbrella, rainwater pooling at my feet, my phone battery dying. The city’s neon lights blurred in the downpour, making me feel even smaller. Finally, soaked and shivering, I took an auto home alone.

I caught a cold from the rain and ran a high fever.

Rohan had to leave Priya and come to the hospital to take care of me.

But Amma thought it was just my way of forcing Rohan home.

She shouted: “Just because you called Rohan away, your sister tried to kill herself last night and almost died!”

“You’re healthy—why are you fighting with a disabled person?”

The neighbours must have heard her. Amma didn’t care. She looked at me like I was the villain, as if falling sick was a crime.

I stared at her in disbelief. “But Rohan is my husband now…”

“So what? This marriage was always supposed to be hers. You stole her husband.”

Nothing I said could make a difference. In that moment, I realised I was just a guest in my own home, and Priya would always come first.

But back then, it was she who begged me to marry him!

Before leaving for abroad, Priya came to me, trying to persuade me to marry Rohan.

“Tanvi, I know you like him. This is a good opportunity, isn’t it?”

“Better to keep things in the family—you don’t want Rohan to end up with some stranger, do you?”

I kept my head down and said nothing.

Priya got anxious. “Do you want to see our family go bankrupt?”

“I’m begging you, Tanvi! Or are you worried I’ll come back and steal Rohan from you?”

My expression must have changed.

She actually relaxed. “Don’t worry, once I’m abroad, I won’t contact him again, I swear.”

For three years, she kept her promise.

But in the end, even she forgot the vow she made.

Promises are like kites in the Mumbai sky—beautiful for a while, but the wind always changes.