Have you ever imagined, a single SMS could save your relationship? Even i never believed it, until it actually happened.

I’ll never forget the night I locked myself in our bathroom, sliding to the floor as my husband’s car screeched out of the driveway.

We’d screamed at each other over nothing, his late nights, my “nagging,” the suffocating silence that had replaced our inside jokes and stolen kisses.

For months, we’d been roommates, not lovers. I’d cry into his old T-shirts, wondering if he’d already found someone else to laugh with.

The worst part? I’d started Googling divorce lawyers at 2 a.m., my heart pounding with guilt and dread.

I felt like a ghost in my own life, invisible to the man who once promised to cherish me.

I found Sudha mam through a tear-stained WhatsApp message from my college best friend. “She saved my sister’s marriage,” she wrote.

I rolled my eyes. A spiritual guide? Really? I’d tried therapy, date nights, even begging.
But desperation makes you do wild things.

The first time Sudha mam spoke to me, though her voice wasn’t what I expected.

No mystical jargon, no empty promises. Just warmth, like she’d been waiting by the phone for years to hear my story. “You’re not crazy for wanting to fight,” she said softly when I admitted I felt selfish for not “letting him go.” That’s when I broke. Sobbed for 20 minutes straight. She didn’t interrupt.

Burning a handwritten letter of regrets? Meditating with a single candle?

But mam didn’t frame her process and yagya as magic. “This isn’t about changing him,” she said. “It’s about clearing the noise so you can see clearly.”

During the ritual, I realized I’d been clinging to our past, the fairytale early days while resenting the man he’d become.

mam taught me to name the unsaid things, my fear of abandonment, his shame over failing as a provider. One night, I finally whispered to my husband, “I don’t need you to fix us. I just need you to stay.” He looked at me really looked for the first time in years.

mam’s process and tools, daily acts started rewiring us.

I stopped bottling anger, he stopped shutting down. We fought less… and laughed more. Like when he burned our anniversary dinner and I teased him instead of storming off. Old us would’ve spiraled. New us? We ordered pizza and slow-danced in the kitchen.

The turning point? He came home early one Tuesday, red-eyed, and handed me a letter. “I’m sorry I let work become an excuse to hide,” he’d written. We held each other and wept. It wasn’t perfect, but for the first time, it felt possible.

If you’re reading this, curled up in bed with your phone, wondering if it’s too late—it’s not. I won’t tell you Sudha’s a miracle worker.

But she’s the reason I learned to stop begging for love and start rebuilding it.

You don’t have to believe in rituals or karma. Just believe that you deserve peace, whether your marriage survives or not.

And if you take one thing from my mess of a story?

Let it be this: The bravest thing I ever did wasn’t fighting for my marriage. It was finally being honest, with myself, him, and Sudha mam, about how lost we’d both become.

My husband brought home a plant and said “Our marriage isn’t dead,” patting soil over its roots. “It’s just… dormant.”

We water it together every morning. Turns out, so are we.