Aparna sat in her car outside the courtroom, the judgment papers still crisp in her bag. It wasn’t raining. No dramatic wind blowing her hair. Just the quiet hum of traffic and the scent of cheap coffee she’d bought on the way.

After 12 years of marriage, two kids, and a home filled with Diwali photos and silence, she was now officially divorced. Thirty-eight, scared, and oddly - relieved.

Aparna didn’t just survive her divorce - she reclaimed herself in the process. Not every ending needs to feel like failure...!

When she had first mentioned separation, her relatives had looked at her like she’d declared a war. Her mother didn’t speak to her for weeks. Her friends started conversations with “Are you sure?” Her lawyer, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, kept referring to her husband as “the provider.”

But Aparna had stopped needing permission.

The first few months were brutal. The loneliness wasn’t from being alone - it was from being misunderstood. The casual “aur kya chal raha hai?” at social gatherings stung. The hushed tone when people introduced her as “Aparna... she’s separated.”

But something shifted when she enrolled in a weekend course in digital design - something she had once loved before marriage. She reconnected with old college friends. She began freelancing. Not big money, but her own. She painted her bedroom wall teal without asking anyone.

 

The biggest surprise? Her kids adjusted faster than she did. One day, her son called her a “superwoman” when she fixed the Wi-Fi. She laughed harder than she had in months.

Divorce didn’t solve everything. But it stopped the daily ache of compromise. It wasn’t her downfall. It was her doorway.

And no, Aparna doesn’t have it all figured out. But she wakes up lighter. And in her world, that counts as progress.