After betrayal, I thought it was truly over

I never thought I’d be the one writing something like this. A few months ago, I discovered messages on my husband’s phone that felt like knives. Not a full affair, but enough to shatter the ground under me. I packed a bag, went to my mother’s house, and swore I would never return.

In the storm, a close friend told me, “Before you decide, talk to Dayaram ji. Even if it’s just for your own peace.” I resisted—it felt beyond repair. But one evening, I dialed.

Daya Sir didn’t defend my husband, and he didn’t ask me to forget. He said gently, “Broken glass can cut, but it can also be melted back into something new—if both are willing.” Those words made me pause. He began a 7–11 day process, explaining that the Yagya would clear heaviness while we learned how to look at each other without venom.

On his advice, I returned home—not as reconciliation, but as trial space. The rules were clear: no justifications, no shouting matches, and no digging up old fights. Instead, one short talk each night about feelings, not facts. The rest was held in his process.

The first few days were raw. I cried; he sat in silence. By midweek, the atmosphere shifted—less defensive, more open. My husband admitted fear, shame, and regret without excuses. For the first time, I could hear his honesty without boiling over. By the last day, I didn’t feel healed, but I felt willing to try. And that was more than I expected.

We’re still walking carefully, but the knives have been put down. The trust will take time, but there’s space for it to grow again.

Pandit Ji reminded me: “Healing is not forgetting—it is choosing to build new steps on broken ground.” That’s what we’re doing now, one day at a time.