Nimisha closed the door behind her, setting down her small bag. "Good morning to you too."
"Good morning?" Saroj stood, her posture rigid. "You disappear for an entire night, turn off your phone, worry the entire family, and you greet me with 'good morning'?"
"I told Samarth I'd be back this morning. I kept my word."
"That's not the point." Saroj moved closer, her eyes flashing with anger. "You are a Ranawat daughter-in-law. You have responsibilities. You don't just vanish without explanation."
"I needed some time alone."
"Time alone?" Saroj's laugh was bitter. "You have an entire wing of this house to yourself. You have a study, a private sitting room, access to the gardens. What more space do you need?"
Space from you,Nimisha thought but didn't say.Space from the constant reminders that I don't belong here.
"Nimisha, we were worried," Kritika interjected gently. "When you didn't answer your phone, we thought something had happened. Samarth was—"
"Samarth was what?" Nimisha interrupted, looking at Kritika directly. "Concerned? Worried? Or just annoyed that his possession had wandered off?"
Kritika blinked, taken aback. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?" Nimisha's voice was quiet, but something sharp edged each word. "Tell me, Kritika, in the year you've known me, has my husband ever shown genuine concern for my wellbeing? Has he ever asked about my day, my interests, my feelings? Or does he only acknowledge my existence when he needs something from me?"
"Nimisha—"
"You don't get to defend him to me," Nimisha said, her composure cracking slightly. "You, who gets his smiles, his gentleness, his time. You, who he actually talks to like a person instead of an obligation."
"That's enough," Saroj snapped. "You're being disrespectful."
"Disrespectful?" Nimisha turned to her mother-in-law, and for the first time in a year, she didn't force herself to swallow her words. "Disrespectful is being treated like a guest in my own home. Disrespectful is having the servants ignore my requests to cater to Kritika. Disrespectful is being told repeatedly that I'm inadequate, that I'm not good enough, that Kritika would have been better."
Saroj's face paled slightly. "I never said—"
"You didn't have to say it outright. The implication has been clear since day one." Nimisha's hands clenched at her sides. "I have tried. God knows I've tried to be the perfect daughter-in-law. I've followed every rule, attended every function, smiled through every insult disguised as constructive criticism. And what have I gotten in return? Nothing. Not even basic respect."
"You haven't earned respect," Saroj said coldly. "Respect is earned through dedication to this family, through understanding our traditions, through—"
"Through being Kritika?" Nimisha finished. "Through being the daughter you wanted instead of the one you got?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Kritika stood, her expression troubled. "Nimisha, I think you should rest. You're obviously tired and emotional—"
"Don't." Nimisha held up a hand. "Don't patronize me. I'm not tired or emotional. I'm done."
"Done with what?" a deep voice asked from the hallway.
Nimisha's heart lurched.
Samarth stood in the archway, still in last night's clothes, looking like he hadn't slept. His dark eyes were fixed on her with an intensity that made her want to step back.
She didn't.
"Done being treated like I don't matter," she said, meeting his gaze. "Done pretending that this arrangement works for anyone except the people who forced it on us."
His jaw tightened. "We need to talk. Privately."
"No. I'm tired of private conversations where you dictate the terms and I'm expected to accept them." She was trembling now, but she couldn't stop. "I'm tired of being told what I should want, how I should feel, what my place is in this family."
"Nimisha, you're being dramatic," Saroj interjected.
