My name is Meera. I am 35 years old and live in an apartment in Mumbai with my husband, Arjun, and our young daughter, Ananya. To me, Ananya is my entire universe — obedient, brilliant at school, and very loving. But as she grew older, there were more and more things that were difficult for her to share with her mother.

And then, one day I understood that I had caused him much more pain than he had ever imagined.

It all started when Arjun started taking Ananya to his grandparents’ house on weekends — his parents, who lived in Thane. At first I thought it was a good thing: her grandmother needed her company, too. But lately, whenever Ananya returned home, she was unusually quiet.

One day she went straight to her room and buried her face in the pillow, crying.

I asked him what was wrong with him. She just shook her head and said,
“I’m fine… Don’t worry.”

I questioned Arjun, but he got angry:
“You have too many ideas. It’s normal for children to cry a little. Don’t dramatize.”

But my mother’s instinct told me that something wasn’t right. So I decided to do something that still gives me goosebumps when I remember it.

The next day, before my daughter left with Arjun for Thane, I discreetly hid a small tape recorder in her backpack. My hands trembled as I zipped up, my heart pounding. Part of me felt guilty for being suspicious… but another part needed to know the truth.

That afternoon, Ananya came home and began to cry again. I hugged her, pretending not to know anything.

When she fell asleep, I turned on the tape recorder.

What I heard left me speechless.

Her grandmother’s voice, hard, with a Marathi accent:
“This girl is exactly like your mother. What kind of woman is not even capable of giving birth to a boy? If she doesn’t study hard enough to make a lot of money, throw her out!”

Ananya’s voice, choked with emotion:
“I… I’ll try. Please don’t hate me…”

My heart broke.

A ten-year-old girl—why should she endure so much cruelty?

Then came Arjun’s cold voice:
“You’re right. She’s just a child. Why raise her if she will marry anyway? Don’t spoil it too much.”

Trembled. Tears streamed down my face.
The man I trusted the most — my daughter’s father — was not only indifferent, but complicit in the emotional abuse of our daughter.

I sat next to her bed, looking at her little face full of tears. My heart was filled with pain and anger. During the day, she smiled at me and talked to me as if everything was fine… but on my back he carried the weight of his own family’s rejection.

The next morning I asked Arjun to sit in the living room. I put the recorder on the table and pressed play.

Voices echoed in the dark room. Arjun’s face turned livid.

I looked him straight in the eye and said,
“Do you call this ‘normal’? She’s only ten years old! It needs love—not rejection.”

Arjun stammered,
“I… I just wanted him to get stronger…”

I smiled sadly:
“You don’t make a child strong by making him feel that he is not loved. Do you realize how much he cries every time he comes home from your parents’ house?”

He was silent, his head bowed. For the first time I saw shame in my husband’s eyes.

That night I hugged my daughter and whispered,
“Anu, I know you’ve been through a lot. You don’t have to carry this weight. Be yourself — I’ll always be here for you.”

She was shocked — and then burst into tears:
— “Mom… I thought you wouldn’t believe me. I was afraid that telling you about it would only make you sadder…”

I hugged her tightly. At that moment I understood:
My daughter’s greatest pain was having to face everything alone.

From that day on, I swore that I would never go to his paternal grandparents’ house again. I told Arjun’s family in Thane: if you still have prejudice against girls, then leave me and my daughter alone.

I also contacted a child psychologist in Bandra to help my daughter relieve the pressure.

For me — a mother living in the heart of Mumbai — nothing is more important than raising my daughter with love.

The truth revealed by the tape recorder opened a rift in our family, but it also made something perfectly clear:

A child’s tears should never be ignored.