I was crying in my mind asking why me, Oh god, why me. I saw her. Her hand was cut, her legs were slightly swollen and she had blood red eyes. May be from loss of sleep over her drunken husband. Still she was chatty and was efficiently cleaning my house. She was telling about her husband who would pull her mangalya to pawn for drinking, her father who would not even come to her wedding and her son who suddenly decided he no longer wants to go to school. She was not crying. Strong women do not cry, but face the world.
I felt ashamed of my imaginary grief.
I felt ashamed of my imaginary grief.
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