“This is for us,” he whispered.
I cried.
But not from sadness.
I cried because I already knew the truth.
When I watched him pass through security, I knew he wouldn’t be boarding a flight to Canada. He would exit through another gate and take a cab toward Gurugram.
And that’s when I made my decision.
I would not be the deceived wife who waits.
I would be the woman who acts.
When I got home, I sat at the dining table where we had planned our future so many times.
I called the bank.
The account was joint, but we were both legal holders. I had every right to move the funds. And I had documentation proving most of the capital was direct inheritance.
One hour.
Just one hour between naivety and resolve.
I transferred the $650,000 into a personal account under my name only.
Silent.
Legal.
Irreversible.
Then I called my family’s lawyer in Defence Colony.
“I want to initiate divorce proceedings immediately,” I said.
That night I cried.
Not because he had left me.
But because he had almost turned me into the unwilling sponsor of his new life.
The next day he called.
“I’ve arrived in Toronto,” he said. He even played airport sounds in the background.
What an actor.
“How was the flight?” I asked calmly.
“Long, but it’ll be worth it for our future.”
Our.
For three days he kept calling from “Canada.”
White hallways. Parking lots. Car interiors.
If I hadn’t seen the lease agreement, I might have believed every lie.
On the fifth day, he received the official divorce notice.
He called me furious.
“What is this, Sarah?”
“It’s the consequence of your decisions.”
“You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing. I know about the apartment in Gurugram. I know about Erica. I know about the baby.”
Silence.
“I was going to explain…”
“I didn’t need an explanation. I needed respect.”
I hung up.
I decided to meet Erica.
We met at a quiet café in Hauz Khas Village.
She was young. Elegant. Visibly pregnant.
“He told me you’d been separated for years,” she murmured.
“That’s not true.”
Her expression shifted.
Confusion.
Pain.
Embarrassment.
In that moment I realized she didn’t know the full story either.
“I didn’t come to fight,” I told her. “I just wanted you to know the truth.”
She wasn’t my enemy.
We had both been manipulated.
I left that meeting feeling something unexpected: relief.
The legal process in India was long. There were attempts at intimidation, proposals of settlements favorable to him, suggestions that we “resolve everything privately.”
