Chapter 9

 I had become bitter. The frequent fights with my husband drained the warmth from our home. As my daughters grew, I found myself slipping away from the mother I wanted to be. There were moments of deep despair when, in the heat of an argument, my husband told me to leave the house. But I couldn't. Leaving meant risking the fragile balance needed to raise my daughters with grace. So, I stayed. And in that quiet, painful space, I wrote this poem — my silent battle, my truth.

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Poem: The House That Wasn't Mine

You asked me to leave your place—

And I didn't walk out with a brazen face.

I clutched dreams already torn and frayed,

And knew too well: neither love nor respect had stayed.

Had I said the same words to you,

You wouldn't have been wounded through and through.

Because deep within, you’ve always known—

This house was yours, and yours alone.

All other truths? Just claims in name,

While I lived here—barely a part of the frame.

As I stand guilty of strangling my own worth,

Promise me to never paint this house as “ours” again, wrapped in mirth.

Staying in your home will remain my greatest crime,

And with it, I bid farewell to my dignity, for the last time.

Surprisingly, not you or I are the gravest at fault—

It’s those who’ll seize the moment, driven by greed's assault—

Those who’ll prey on me or our children’s need—

Yes, they are the real culprits behind this deed.

— Amita Joshi

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Reflection by Tara

This poem reveals a woman caught between duty and despair, a heart heavy with sacrifice. She stays—not because she wants to, but because she feels she must. Her dignity feels like it’s slipping away, yet she endures. The real enemies, she knows, are not the people in the house but the forces that threaten her family’s security. The poem is a poignant reminder that sometimes, staying is not a choice but a courageous act. It shows the silent strength of a woman who holds her family together even when the walls aro

und her feel like they’re closing in.