My husband and I belong to different religions. That, I think, was reason enough for my mother-in-law to dislike me. One Sunday, we had a quarrel. Things got out of hand when the three of us began screaming. I lost my temper when my husband took her side and stormed out of the house.
I felt lost, so I went to the nearby church where Mass was on. Inside, I found a desolate corner, sat on a pew and started crying. As the service was ending, I made the sign of the cross, went out and sat on the stairs. Soon, a very old lady came and stood beside me. I looked up at her pale, wrinkled face, and she asked me to lend her a hand. With my help, she got down the first two steps, but to my surprise she sat down beside me. My first thought was that she was waiting for someone to pick her up. But no one came. She remained quiet and still held my hand gently. Although I found her behaviour a bit odd, I must admit, I also found it comforting. Neither of us said a word. After a while, when I had calmed down. She asked me if I could help her get up. I guided her down the steps, and even put her into an autorickshaw. Now that I was alone once more, I thought I’d cry again, but no tears came. In fact I felt as if a burden had been lifted from my soul.
I returned home and things slowly got better between my mum-in-law and me. I began going to church more often, and became quite close to the dear old octogenarian. Her name, I learnt, was Mrs Grace, and I learnt that she lived all alone. One day I thanked her for what she did for me, and she revealed that she had seen me cry during the service and wanted to help. I soon moved to my mother's place and had my baby. Later, when I returned to the same church, I learnt that Grace had passed away.
I spoke to my married friends and found that almost everyone had gone through something similar. But she what was different here is that, in my darkest hour, a silent stranger held my hand and offered me solace.
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