After more than two hours in a hotel with my boss, I returned home to cook porridge for my paralyzed husband, but what I found shook my world.
I left the Oberoi Hotel . The neon lights cast pale reflections on my tired face. Bombay was still alive, noisy, chaotic, but inside me there was only silence.
Mr. Verma , my boss, had just left, leaving me behind with a wrinkled office dress and a huge void in my chest.
My phone vibrated inside my bag.
I took it out. A notification from the bank appeared: 500,000 ₹ deposited . A sum so large it made my heart race.
But I didn’t feel happy.
My name is Priya , and I’m 28 years old. I’m an ordinary office worker living in Thane , just outside Mumbai. But my life has been completely normal for a long time now.
My husband, Ravi , once a brilliant young engineer, was paralyzed from the neck down after a car accident two years ago. Since then, I’ve become his nurse, caregiver, and sole provider: I feed him, bathe him, clean him, and care for him day after day, like a mindless robot.
But tonight, she was no longer just a devoted wife.
I had done something I never thought I would be capable of doing.
That morning, Mr. Verma called me into his office.
A powerful man in his 50s, rich, authoritarian, and always giving me looks that made my hair stand on end.
“Priya, do you want to save your husband?”
I nodded. My heart was already pounding.
He passed a contract across the desk. The figure of 500,000 rupees was printed in bold letters at the top. In exchange, a night with him in a hotel.
I froze.
Ravi needed surgery. The doctors said he wouldn’t survive the year without it. We were broke. Our families had exhausted all their resources.
I signed. My hand was shaking so much that my signature was barely legible.
At the hotel, I felt paralyzed. I didn’t think. I didn’t feel. I just… held on.
Mr. Verma was surprisingly kind. But every touch was like a knife cutting into my pride.
When he finished, he handed me an envelope and said:
You did well. Your husband will thank you.
I didn’t reply. I simply bowed and left silently.
When I arrived at our small room in Thane, the aroma of boiling rice porridge filled the air.
Ravi was still lying there, staring up at the ceiling. I sat down next to him, gave him some food, and fed him slowly.
I worked overtime today. I’m tired.
I lied.
He nodded weakly, without asking anything.
I looked at him: the man I once loved so passionately. Now, just a shadow on a mattress.
Tears rolled down my cheeks and fell into the bowl of oatmeal.
My phone vibrated again.
Another ₹1,000,000 was deposited .
I froze.
Mr. Verma?
I checked the message: You deserve more. Don’t tell anyone.
My heart was beating fast.
Was it a trap?
A cruel pity?
I didn’t know.
The next morning I arrived at the office a nervous wreck.
Mr. Verma had left. His secretary said he had flown to Delhi early in the morning.
I sighed with relief, but the unease still gnawed at me.
Then my phone vibrated again.
A message from an unknown number : Priya, thank you for saving me last night. I’m Ravi, but not your Ravi.
My body got cold.
I tried calling the number.
Offline.
I hurried back home.
Ravi was still in bed, motionless.
“Do you know something?” I whispered.
He looked at me. And then, a soft smile appeared.
Priya, I know you’ve sacrificed a lot. But are you sure the man you were with last night was really your boss?
My mind was spinning.
I checked the contract again. The signature was n’t Mr. Verma’s.
It was someone else:
Ravi Narayan .
The same name as my husband.
The bank transaction?
Also Ravi Narayan .
That night I couldn’t sleep.
I sat next to Ravi, trying to piece together the fragments of this twisted truth.
Had anyone else intervened?
Had someone been watching me all this time?
At 3 a.m. another message arrived:
Don’t look for me. Use that money to save your husband.
He doesn’t deserve your pain anymore.
I read it again.
And again.
Who was “he”?
Who was “the real Ravi”?
Was the man lying next to me really just a helpless patient?
I stared at the ₹1.5 million in my account.
And I knew this story was far from over.
Maybe the man she had been caring for…
He wasn’t who I thought he was.
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