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๐Ÿชธ Chapter 1 ๐Ÿชธ

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โ€œBhoomi!โ€ Nitinโ€™s voice thundered through the walls.

She barely stepped into the room when the plate full of food flew past her and crashed to the floor with a loud clang.

โ€œWhat is this?!โ€ he roared.

โ€œIโ€ฆ itโ€™s food,โ€ she stammered, trembling.

He stood, unbuckling his belt with a rage she had learned to fear. โ€œI know itโ€™s food,โ€ he hissed, pointing to the spilled dal-chawal on the floor. โ€œBut this? You expect me to eat this plain garbage?โ€

โ€œNoโ€ฆ n-noโ€ฆ wait, Iโ€™ll make something better,โ€ she said quickly, bending down to clean the messโ€”

But the moment her fingers touched the floor, the first lash cracked across her back.

โ€œAAAH!โ€ she screamed, clutching the spot in pain.

Before she could move, another strike landed.

Then another.

And another.

Until she was curled on the floor, sobbing, her hands folded in front of him, begging for mercy.

He knelt beside her, grabbed her hair, and yanked her face up to meet his. Her cheeks were streaked with tears.

โ€œNext time, Iโ€™ll kill you.โ€ His voice was low. Deadly.

โ€œYou filthy bitch.โ€ He threw her head back with a jerk, kicked her once, and walked out of the room like nothing happened.

Bhoomi stayed on the floorโ€”curled, broken, and crying.

Moments later, her mother-in-law, Kalpana, entered.

โ€œWhat is all this?!โ€ she scolded, as if the shattered plate and bruises were just inconvenience. โ€œYou canโ€™t do one thing properly? Lookโ€”he left without eating! If he falls sick, itโ€™ll be your fault.โ€

Bhoomi opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

โ€œWhy the hell are you crying now? Huh? Enough of your drama. Clean this mess!โ€

She turned and walked outโ€”completely unfazed by what she had just witnessed.

Dragging herself up with shaky hands, Bhoomi picked up the plate and slowly mopped the floor. The sting in her back throbbed with every breath, but she didnโ€™t stop. She couldnโ€™t.

In the kitchen, most of the food was already gone. She scraped together a few leftover vegetables and a single cold roti. Quietly, she sat down at the edge of the table, lifting her hand to take a biteโ€”

Slap.

Her mother-in-lawโ€™s hand landed across her face, the food falling from her fingers.

โ€œMy son is hungry and youโ€™re here filling your stomach? Do you have no shame?โ€ Kalpana snapped. โ€œIn our time, women didnโ€™t even look at food until their husbands had eaten. But look at youโ€”shameless!โ€

She snatched the plate from the table and dumped it straight into the dustbin.

โ€œStarveโ€ฆ or die. You donโ€™t eat until my son eats.โ€ With that, she turned and walked away.

Kalpana didnโ€™t even look at her again.

โ€œNow stop sitting there like a statue and go wash the clothes. The pileโ€™s waiting,โ€ she said flatly.

Bhoomi sat there for a second longer, staring at the dustbin where her only meal for the day had just landed. Her mouth was dry. Her stomach growled in betrayal. But she didnโ€™t cry. Not anymore. The tears had stopped meaning anything.

She quietly made her way to the backyard, where the plastic buckets already overflowed with a mountain of clothesโ€”her husband's shirts, her father-in-lawโ€™s sweaty vests, her mother-in-lawโ€™s sarees, her sister-in-lawโ€™s stained kurtis, her brother-in-lawโ€™s jeans, and to top it all offโ€” used bedsheets rolled up like wet, smelly rags.

The sun was already harsh, burning into her back as she knelt on the rough cement floor. Her body screamed in protest. The belt marks across her spine hadnโ€™t faded yet. Every bend, every lift, every scrub pulled at her skin like it was tearing open again.

She pulled the first sheet toward her. It stankโ€”sweat, hair oil, something else she didnโ€™t want to name. She dipped it into the soapy water and began scrubbing with both hands, her knuckles going red almost immediately. There was no machine. No help. Just a rusted washboard, a cracked bar of detergent, and a silence that rang louder than any scream.

Her hands worked like they didnโ€™t belong to her anymore.

Dip. Scrub. Wring. Repeat.

Over and over.

No breaks. No food. No water.

Hours passed. The cement burned her knees raw. Her fingers blistered. Her head throbbed from heat and hunger. But she didnโ€™t stop.

Because stopping meant another slap.

Another insult.

Another round of being reminded that she was unwanted.

By the time she finished, her arms were shaking, and her cotton saree was soaked through. Her braid clung to her neck. Her palms were wrinkled and raw.

She hung the last sheet over the clothesline, her arms trembling as she reached up.

Kalpanaโ€™s voice came again from inside.

โ€œDonโ€™t sit around like a beggar. The living roomโ€™s a mess. Clean it before guests come. And fix your faceโ€”what if someone thinks we torture you?โ€

Bhoomi didnโ€™t respond. She just looked down at her hands, and then picked up the dusting cloth and began wiping the centre table.

Kalpana clicked her tongue.

โ€œTchโ€ฆ Look at that speed. When I was your age, I managed a whole house and still looked fresh like a rose. But you? MBA degree and canโ€™t even wipe a table properly. Wah.โ€

Bhoomi kept her eyes on the surface.

โ€œThis is what happens when girls study too much. They forget how to be wives. Always with that dumb blank stare. Did your mother not teach you anything?โ€

The cloth in Bhoomiโ€™s hand paused for half a second.

Kalpana noticed.

โ€œAh. Sensitive topic?โ€ she smirked. โ€œPoor woman. Must be ashamed seeing her daughter become this burden.โ€

Something hot rose in Bhoomiโ€™s throat, but she swallowed it down.

She moved to fluff the cushions.

โ€œMake sure the corners are sharp,โ€ Kalpana snapped. โ€œYou donโ€™t know who might walk in. And remember, donโ€™t sit on the sofa after cleaning it. Itโ€™s not for you.โ€

Bhoomi bent to sweep the floor, her knees cracking.

Kalpana watched her for another moment, then scoffed.

โ€œNo wonder my son comes home angry. Who wouldnโ€™t be, married to a girl like you? No spark, no manners, no figure, no charm. Just a dead face and useless hands.โ€

And with that, she walked away.

Bhoomi kept sweeping. Silently. Carefully. One corner at a time. As if her life depended on it. Because in this houseโ€”it did.

โ•โ•โœฟโ•โ•โ•กยฐห–โœงโœฟโœงห–ยฐโ•žโ•โ•โœฟโ•โ•

I hope you all will like this story!

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