Dated: 30 August 2025

 Dated: 30 August 2025

To My Dearest Mom,

Today I listened to a podcast that stirred something deep inside me. The speaker said something that struck me profoundly — “The people we love the most in this life might be souls we were connected to in a previous birth.” I sat in silence after hearing that, and suddenly, so many emotions made sense. There has always been a bond between us that feels unexplainably strong — beyond that of a typical mother and daughter. And for years, I’ve wondered: why do I love you more than anyone else in my life — more than my husband, and even more than my own child?

I used to feel guilty for feeling this way. How could I, as a mother, say that my love for you surpasses everything else? How could I place you before my own child in the hierarchy of emotions? But now, after hearing that podcast, something inside me whispered — “because she wasn’t just your mother… she was your soulmate in a past life.”

It may sound strange, even unbelievable to others, but I believe it now. Maybe we were lovers in a previous birth — souls deeply connected by a love that transcended the physical world. And in this life, that love transformed into this profound, unshakable bond between mother and daughter. That might explain why I feel such emptiness and sorrow being away from you, even when others expect me to be strong and move on. I can't.

And yet, as this thought brings comfort, it also brings a deep, aching confusion. What if in the next life, we don’t meet as mother and daughter again? What if we cross paths as strangers or take up different roles in each other's lives? That uncertainty terrifies me. I already feel we are separated in this life — like souls trying to reach for each other, but something keeps pulling us apart. And I can’t describe how painful it is to carry this void every single day.

I’m writing this letter to share something that’s been weighing heavily on me — something that I’ve done, and something I feel is often misunderstood.

I have withdrawn Dilip’s application. Yes, I know what that means and the consequences it holds. But I didn’t do it impulsively. I did it because I want him to feel, even if it’s just a fraction, of the same pain I’m going through every single day — the pain of separation from someone you gave life to, someone you long to see and hold again. I want him to feel what I feel when I wake up every morning with an empty heart, and every night when I sleep with unspoken tears in my eyes.

People may call me cruel. They may say, "How can a mother separate a child from his father? Isn’t that heartless?" And maybe it is, in their eyes. But they haven’t walked in my shoes. They don’t know the depth of my pain. They haven’t lived the betrayal, the abuse, the isolation, and the emotional violence I’ve endured. This is not about revenge — it’s about reflection. This is about making someone understand that choices have consequences, and neglecting love comes with a cost.

Dilip’s son — yes, my son — our son, Nandan, is an innocent soul. And I love him beyond words. But if his father truly loves him too, then he must be willing to fight for that love — not by manipulation, not by false declarations, but through truth, justice, and dignity.

If he truly wants to be a father — a man — then let him first act like one. Let him bring back my pride. Let him bring back the money he owes — not because of its monetary value, but because it represents the respect and stability he snatched away from me. Let him face his brother and demand the truth, stand for justice, and correct the wrongs that were done to me. But I know in my heart — he won’t.

He is too afraid. Even talking to his brother makes him anxious, uncomfortable. He avoids confrontation, prefers silence over standing up — and I’ve seen this pattern for years. That is why I’m sure, it will be easier for him to forget his own child than to face his family for what’s right. It’s easier to abandon a bond than to challenge the toxic system that raised you. But that’s where I draw the line.

I am not leaving Dilip because he is a coward. I am leaving him because he was abusive, manipulative, and worst of all — a cheater. The physical and emotional abuse I endured under the mask of a marriage broke something inside me. But what shattered me completely was his betrayal. His lies. His secrets. His calculated destruction of my self-worth while painting himself as a hero and labeling me a fraud.

How do I explain, Mom, that it’s not the money that ended our relationship — it’s the dishonesty, the disrespect, and the mental torture? Money comes and goes. But a man who shatters your soul and turns your pain into his spotlight is not someone I can call a partner. He used me as a weapon to win battles in his own family drama — not realizing that I’m a living, breathing human being with feelings and a heart, not a chess piece.

I know whenever I bring this up with you, it makes you sad. I see it in your eyes. I feel it in your silence. So I’ll leave this part here. But I want you to know this, and I want you to hear it with your heart:

“If God is truly watching, if there is such a thing as divine justice, then I pray — let those who made me live in pain, live with longing. Let them feel the ache of separation, not just for a day or a week, but for a lifetime. Let their hearts beat with the same hollow wish I carry every day — the desperate wish to see, to touch, to hold what was once their own, but now gone.”

Let them die a little every second, not through death, but through the pain of never having what they once took for granted. That is my prayer, not from hatred, but from a place of raw, honest grief.

I don’t expect others to understand. They may judge me, call me names — "a cruel mother," "a bitter woman," or "vindictive." Let them. Only you know how much I’ve tolerated, how much I’ve sacrificed, and how much I’ve loved. Only you know the strength it took for me to keep going when all I wanted was to stop.

And that’s why, Mom, I keep coming back to you. You are my peace. My home. My greatest love. This lifetime has separated us in so many ways, and I don’t know what the next will bring. But if there’s even a slight possibility that we will meet again, in any form — as friends, lovers, or even strangers with a hidden familiarity — I will take it.

Because this soul of mine recognizes you. It always has. And maybe that’s the whole point of love — not just to possess, but to recognize, to cherish, to carry across lifetimes.

I know you feel helpless sometimes. You want to fix everything for me, to take my pain away, and it hurts you when you can’t. But just know — your presence in my life, even from afar, is the only thing that keeps me going. And if I ever become someone truly strong, truly free — it will be because I had a mother like you.

Thank you for being my constant. My heart. My truth. I love you in this life, and I’ll search for you in the next.

With all my soul,
Your Daughter