After a month of business trip, as soon as I got home, my husband immediately urged me: “Let’s go back to the room, I miss you so much”…who would have thought it would be a tragedy…

Just Returned from a Work Trip, Her Husband Said “Let’s Go to the Bedroom, I Missed You” — She Didn’t Expect the Tragedy That Followed

Mumbai, early May. The season’s first monsoon rain fell unexpectedly, just like the emotions of a woman stepping out of the airport after a month-long business trip in Delhi. Anika pulled her suitcase along, her heart fluttering—not just because the project was a success, though it did make her proud—but because she was finally home. Home with Arjun, the man who never went to bed without telling her “I love you.”

She unlocked the door with her fingerprint. Her heart beat fast—like the first time she visited his apartment when they were still dating. The two-story home in Bandra West was quiet, with a fresh citrusy scent of floor cleaner. Before she could even set her suitcase down, she heard footsteps pounding down the stairs.

— “You’re home, my love!” — Arjun exclaimed, hugging her tightly as if it had been a year. He held her so tightly she could barely breathe, and then grinned:
— “Let’s go to the bedroom! I’ve missed you so much!”

Anika laughed, resting her cheek on his shoulder. His familiar scent, his urgency, the sparkle in his eyes—all made her feel safe again. She nodded:
— “Let me shower first.”

Arjun pouted like a little boy, then nodded. While she showered, he turned on music and placed a glass of lemon ginger juice on the table. Such small gestures might seem ordinary, but Anika cherished them deeply.

That night, they held each other like they’d never been apart. Arjun whispered sweet words into her ear, and Anika felt like the luckiest woman alive. While so many women had to carry the world on their shoulders alone, she had someone who always stood behind her—gentle, dependable.

The next morning, Arjun got up early and made breakfast: poha, paratha, and a cold milk coffee, just the way Anika liked it.

— “You’ve worked hard. Now let me take care of you,” he said.

Anika beamed. Who says Indian men can’t be romantic? Her husband was the exception.

But happiness, sometimes, is like glass—clear, beautiful, but heartbreakingly fragile.

Three days later, Anika found a red hair tie under the pillow in their bedroom. Not hers. She didn’t wear that type, and certainly not that color. She held it in her fingers and stared at it for a while. Her heart didn’t race. She didn’t even feel jealous. Just… still.

Women often have a sixth sense.

That evening, with her head resting on Arjun’s arm, she asked softly:
— “Did anyone visit the house while I was away?”

Arjun didn’t flinch:
— “Ravi came to borrow the drill. That’s it.”

— “Oh.” – Anika smiled lightly, like a breeze.

A week later, while reorganizing the wardrobe, she found a woman’s Zara scarf tucked away at the back of the winter shelf. Still new. It smelled faintly of Versace Bright Crystal perfume. Not hers.

This time, her heart did ache.

She didn’t confront him. She just quietly retrieved the hard drive tucked away in the kitchen cabinet—one Arjun thought she had removed last year. It stored backup footage from the home’s security cameras.

She rewound the recordings.

And she saw it.

A slender young woman with brown hair entering the house at 9 PM on Day 15 of her trip. Arjun opened the door and kissed the woman on the forehead. There was no sound, but the image was unmistakable.

They went upstairs. The bedroom door closed behind them.

Anika felt sick to her stomach. She clenched the computer mouse tightly.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t cry. She was not the kind of woman who begged or lost control.

That night, while Arjun snored next to her, she unlocked his phone—still the same password: their wedding date. In the hidden messages folder were dozens of pictures of that girl.

Anika copied everything onto a USB drive. Then she sat and watched him sleep like a child.

“I don’t need to confront you. Life will make you pay.”

She didn’t leave right away. She packed a small suitcase and left quietly at 5 AM the next morning, before Arjun woke up. She rented a serviced apartment in Worli, taking only her essentials and her cat.

She wasn’t sure if she was angry at him—or at herself for trusting so much.

---

Days passed. Arjun called nonstop. He messaged her. Showed up at her office. Even called her mother in Jaipur.

Anika only replied once:

“I need time.”

She turned to Priya, her best friend from college, now a communications director in Pune. A seasoned woman, Priya had been betrayed before, divorced, and rebuilt her life. After hearing everything, Priya said:

— “Whether you forgive him or walk away, that’s your decision. But make sure you’re in control. Don’t let him decide your story.”

Anika nodded. She wouldn’t be the victim anymore.

For the next month, she quietly gathered the truth—not to start a fight, but to truly understand the man she had lived with for five years.

And then came the heartbreak that didn’t hurt, but left her hollow.

The woman—Rhea—was only 22. A recent graduate. An intern at Arjun’s company, where he was the assistant technical director.

Anika found Rhea’s Instagram. Posts from coffee shops that she and Arjun once frequented. One caption stood out:

“Waiting for you… but I’m only a shadow.”

Anika realized the worst betrayal wasn’t physical. Arjun had let another woman fall for him.

On the 29th day since leaving home, Anika messaged Arjun to meet at a quiet café in Colaba. She wore a white dress, her hair softly curled. No makeup. But her eyes… they were not the same.

Arjun arrived looking worn out, his clothes wrinkled. He didn’t speak.

— “Do you love her?” — Anika asked plainly.

He froze. Fumbled.

— “No… It was just a moment of weakness… you were gone… I was lonely…”

— “So if I had been lonely, if I had a moment of weakness… would I have had the right to sleep with another man?”

Silence.

Anika pulled a USB from her purse and placed it on the table.

— “This contains the camera footage, your hidden messages, and chats where you asked her to call you ‘husband.’ I don’t want to use it. I just want you to know—I’m not stupid.”

Arjun lowered his head. Red with shame.

— “I don’t want you to beg,” she continued. “I just want to know—do you still deserve to be the man I chose to walk this life with?”

He didn’t answer. He just cried.

But his tears meant nothing to her anymore.

A week later, Anika filed for divorce.

---

Three months later, Anika opened a small café in Koregaon Park, Pune. She named it “Baad Mein Dhoop” — Sunlight After Rain. A peaceful spot filled with vines, sunlight, and quiet healing.

One day, Rhea walked in.

No longer carefree. She wore formal clothes, her eyes tired.

She paused when she saw Anika. Their eyes met.

— “I’m sorry. I didn’t know who you were until… it was too late,” Rhea said quietly.

Anika smiled softly:

— “It’s okay. Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is stopping before you destroy yourself.”

Rhea’s eyes welled up. She left in silence.

---

That December, Anika joined a mentorship program for young female entrepreneurs. During one session, someone asked:

— “What’s the biggest setback you’ve ever faced?”

Anika smiled.

— “I once thought losing a man meant losing everything. But it turns out… I was just rediscovering myself.”

Applause echoed. Anika felt peace.

Outside, bougainvillea flowers bloomed brightly—like there had never been a storm.

Meanwhile, in a high-rise office in Mumbai, Arjun stood before a letter from HR: Termination for misconduct and breach of data policy. Not from Anika. But from Rhea—who, after realizing his lies, had reported everything. Screenshots. Chats. Promises of a permanent position in exchange for obedience.

The company had already lost patience with his poor technical decisions. His affair sealed his fate.

Jobless, Arjun dialed Rhea’s number—for the tenth time. Only the dial tone. Her last message read:

“I was wrong. So were you. Don’t contact me again.”

He went to her old apartment. Vacant. Empty. Only the faded outline of where a painting once hung remained—like a scar on his soul.

At home, the two-story house felt twice as empty. No laughter. No cat. Just silence. On the bed was the red hair tie Anika had left—her quiet, cutting message.

One night, he stumbled across an ad for “Baad Mein Dhoop.” He remembered her calm smile at that last coffee meeting.

The next morning, he visited Thane. The café was crowded. Arjun stood behind the garden gate, unable to enter.

Inside, Anika was laughing with young interns—women as bright as Rhea once was, but who looked at her with admiration.

She didn’t notice Arjun.

She was too busy—being the boss of her own life