I never thought she’d come back. Not after all these years. I was just a platform tailor back then, stitching clothes under the scorching sun at Grant Road station. She was the bank officer who lent me my first loan—Sharda. With her faith, I built a showroom, became someone. But Roopa… my wife, sister to my brother-in-law Deepak—she made my home a prison. I tolerated her for Jyoti’s sake. For family.

Now Sharda is my neighbor.

Yesterday, I saw her standing at her gate, same calm eyes, same grace. And just like that, the past rushed in. The way she smiled when I sold my first suit. The way my heart raced when she touched my shoulder and said, 'You’re meant for more, Prakash.'

Today, Roopa screamed at Pinky again. Called her 'useless' for dropping a glass. I stayed quiet. I always do. But Sharda heard. I saw her face through the window—disgust, then sorrow.

She knocked tonight. 'You don’t have to live like this,' she said. 'You deserve better. We deserve better.'

My hands trembled. 'And what about Jyoti?'

'Family shouldn’t be a cage,' she whispered. 'Will you keep letting her destroy you? Destroy Pinky?'

I don’t know what to do. But for the first time in years… I want to fight.