That particular afternoon in Delhi was brutally hot. Dry, scorching winds swept through the small garden outside the house.
Lakshmi’s throat burned with thirst.
On the table sat a half-finished glass of sweet lime juice that Aarav had been drinking. A few melting ice cubes clung to the glass.
She took one small sip—just enough to wet her lips.
At that exact moment, Riya stepped out of the kitchen and caught sight of her.
“Mom, what are you doing?” Riya shouted sharply, her eyes flashing with anger.
Lakshmi flinched.
“Beta, I was so thirsty… I only took one sip…”
Riya slammed her spoon onto the glass table.
“That’s my child’s juice!
Have you lost all shame, even at your age?”
Little Aarav slipped behind his mother’s dupatta, staring silently with wide eyes.
Riya stretched out her arm and pointed directly at the front door, her voice shaking with fury.
“This house doesn’t feed useless old people who contribute nothing!
Get out—go wherever you want!”
Lakshmi stood motionless, her white sari fluttering in the hot wind.
She did not cry.
She did not plead.
She walked quietly into the small living room and picked up her old cloth bag—the one holding her savings passbook worth 20 million rupees.
When she stepped out of the luxurious Greater Kailash house, she did not turn back even once.
That same scorching afternoon, Mrs. Lakshmi completed three important tasks.
First:
She went straight to Punjab National Bank, withdrew every rupee from her savings account, and transferred the amount into a new account.
Second:
She visited Shanti Niketan Old Age Home in Hauz Khas.
She reviewed the terms.
She signed the papers.
She paid in advance for ten full years—for a premium room with a private caregiver.
Third:
She went to a reputable notary office.
There, before two witnesses, she prepared her will.
