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The villa in Mussoorie was perfect! Scenic, serene, away from the hustle and bustle of Mumbai. A two-week vacation was needed for us, especially with Anita’s severe depression.

I planned the trip around our daughter, Pihu’s, 6th birthday. I thought it would be a unique celebration for Pihu, and Anita may also feel better.

Anita’s struggle with depression had started with the birth of Pihu, five years ago. Initially, doctors had diagnosed it as postpartum depression and had assured us that she should recover within a year. However, she only seemed to deteriorate, to the point of hurting herself. She had bruises and scars from burning herself on the gas stove purposely or hitting herself with a belt.

Additionally, I had noticed that the alcohol that I kept at home for entertaining was disappearing at a fast rate. I had to buy new bottles almost every other day. Pihu had been enrolled in a daycare within a few months of her birth, because Anita’s depression made it hard for her to manage all her responsibilities.

We had gone to the best psychiatrists in Mumbai, who had put her on the strongest antidepressants. She took a cocktail of medications daily, but I saw no change. We tried different forms of therapy, but nothing seemed to click with her. She always dropped out after a couple of sessions. I couldn’t bear to lose my wife. I loved her- she and Pihu were my only family.

Anita and I were both orphans, who had met in the orphanage in Matunga. She had been abandoned there as a child, most likely because she was a girl child. I had ended up there after my parents, who were poor migrant workers from Bihar, had been killed in the 1993 Mumbai riots. We both had been determined to change our lives for the better.

We had worked days and studied hard in night school. Eventually, we both had pursued college, and then MBA degrees on full scholarships. We were employed by the same company, till Anita went on maternity leave. After that, her mental health had prevented her from returning to work.

Fortunately, I had been given several promotions over the years and was a senior manager in the company now. That meant that my salary was sufficient to take care of us. Having lived the tough life of an orphan, I was ready to do whatever battle was needed to be able to save my family.

***

The flight from Mumbai to Delhi was uneventful. We rented a car from there to Mussoorie. In the car, Pihu chattered away happily in the backseat, excited about being on vacation. Anita, on the other hand, was silent the whole way there. She smiled occasionally at something that Pihu or I said, but it never reached her eyes. I often wondered what went on in her diseased brain. I knew that my Anita was hiding somewhere in there, and I just wasn’t sure how to get her out again.

We reached the villa around sunset. The villa came with a chef, a maid, and a gardener who slept in the outhouse at night. We roamed around the house and the surrounding gardens, taking in the beauty around us, all the while me trying to read Anita.

“How far away are the nearest neighbors?” she suddenly asked.

“The nearest ones are about 3 km away,” I replied. “I thought this place would help us unwind, become close to one another again, without the intrusion of anyone else. Besides, the hired help are just a few steps away,” I said smiling.

She didn’t respond. Pihu’s squeals of excitement on seeing the trampoline, slide, and swing set in the garden broke the awkward silence.

The vacation started off well. For the first few days, Anita wasn’t self-harming or drinking. It felt good to have family meals again, and Pihu seemed to benefit the most from it. The fresh air and meals made from the freshest local ingredients every day was beginning to show on her. She had rosy cheeks now. She was so beautiful, and I often found myself awestruck as I looked at her. Anita and I had created this beauty!

Anita’s improvement didn’t last long. She started drinking again, on the night of Pihu’s 6th birthday. We had a bitter fight about it. I was so angry and hurt! I was trying to be supportive but not seeing any results was draining my patience.

“You have become a shell of a woman Anita! Where is the woman that I married? I need a wife and Pihu needs her mother. This madness has to stop, or I will have no choice but to divorce you!”

I regretted the words the minute they left my mouth. Anita looked stunned, and I realized that Pihu had been listening to us argue and was now crying. I didn’t like to see tears on my beautiful baby’s face. In anger and desperation, I slammed my fist into the living room wall and walked to the master bedroom and shut the door. I needed to calm down!

I walked into Pihu’s bedroom later that night, wanting to talk to her and comfort her. She was asleep, and she looked so angelic. She also somehow looked more mature while asleep. I sat down on the edge of her bed, gently smoothing her hair away from her face. I bent down to kiss her, unable to resist myself. Thar’s why I failed to see Anita with the gun. The bullet hit me straight at the back of my head.

Anita felt a wave of relief as her delusional, sexually and physically abusive alcoholic husband, who had convinced himself that she was the problem, keeled over dead. Her abuse she could tolerate, but when she saw him enter Pihu’s room today, she knew she had to put an end to him.

***

We appreciate you rating the story out of 10 along with your comment in the comments.
The above story is an entry into the writing event(Feb. 02nd – 20th) hosted by ArtoonsInn: #PullTheRug #UniK-3

Event rules and guidelines: https://writers.artoonsinn.com/pull-the-rug-unik-3-writing-event/

Check out Shraddha’s space here: https://writers.artoonsinn.com/author/shraddhaniphadkar/

***

Photo by Simon Migaj


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Shraddha Niphadkar
Shraddha Niphadkar is a licensed counseling psychologist, living in Missouri, USA. Her profession is proof that people, and their stories, fascinate her. She also loves to cook and bake. So, food and relationships often feature in her stories. She is a dog mom, and she firmly believes that that is her most important responsibility.
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