The Night I Sent My Wife to the Storeroom — and the Morning That Changed My Life Forever

My mother’s voice hardened. “You’re the daughter-in-law. Don’t forget your place.”

Anita looked at her and whispered, “I’m not your servant.”

The room fell silent. My face burned with embarrassment. I dragged her by the arm and locked her in the storeroom.

“You’ll stay here until you learn respect,” I said coldly.

There was no mattress. No blanket. Only darkness and my arrogance.

The Morning After

When I unlocked the door the next morning, the room was empty. Her clothes were gone. So was our child.

I ran to my mother. Her face turned ashen. We searched everywhere until a neighbor finally spoke.

“I saw her last night,” the woman said. “She was crying, dragging her suitcase. I gave her money for a taxi. She said she was going home — and she’d never come back.”

When I called her, her voice was steady. “I’m at my parents’ house. I’ll file for divorce in a few days. Our son stays with me. And half of everything you own is mine.”

I couldn’t speak. My mother sneered, “She’s bluffing. She won’t dare.”

But I knew. Anita never bluffed.

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