191. Because she knew how to keep her promise

The story I am narrating here is, some say, fake and AI-generated.

However, since this viral post has circulated worldwide, I believe it would be helpful to summarize it for those who haven't read it. 

Why? Because, despite its flaws, it depicts how this world functions and, secondly, how far we can go to save our love, literally. Even going to jail? Stealing? Yes, a woman was arrested for stealing medicine for her husband. 

Before you begin reading, disregard comments from so-called fact-checkers claiming it’s a fabricated story. Even if it is, such stories happen. Stories are never invented; they reflect society unless they're science fiction. Events occur first, and then stories are created—never the other way around. 

This story centers on 91-year-old Helen Miller and her 88-year-old husband, George, who have been married for 60 years. Their daily lives follow a strict routine, shaped by George's severe heart failure and the 12 pills he takes each day to sustain his life.

They had always just scraped by. Their limited fixed income covered only essentials. When they lost their supplemental insurance due to missed payments, their situation changed drastically.

There was no medicine, and George’s breathing had grown more labored in recent days. He reclined on the bed by the window and managed a smile as his wife, Helen, left for the pharmacy.

Helen went to the pharmacy expecting to pay the usual $50 for her medication. She stood at the counter, holding a small paper slip — the prescription her husband needed to breathe without pain and to sleep without coughing through the night.

“$950,” the pharmacist said softly. She initially thought she misheard. “It used to be $50,” she whispered. She left without purchasing the medicine. The pharmacist looked down, unable to find an answer. 

She stepped outside the pharmacy and sat on a nearby bench for a long time. She opened her purse. A few crumpled bills. Some coins. An old photograph of the two of them from their younger days. She looked at the photo longer than at the money.

She returned home and, over the next three days, watched George gasp for air and grow weaker. He was weak and confused, and his breathing became a wet, shallow rasp. She knew he didn't have much time.

They had endured wars and shortages, raised children, lost friends, and aged together. They shared a single blanket in winter and one lifelong dream—to never let the other suffer. They had been proud of that promise to each other until then.

On the fourth day, that promise felt heavier than her age. In her desperation, terrified, she went back to the pharmacy. 

But this time, she didn’t go to the counter. She walked slowly toward the medicine shelf. Her eyes searched for the small box that had suddenly become more expensive than anything they owned. 

Her hands shook as she picked it up and discreetly slipped the bottle into her bag. They weren’t shaking because she wanted to steal, but because she didn’t know how else to keep her promise.

However, she was stopped before leaving and charged with felony shoplifting. She didn’t resist. She didn’t argue. She said only one sentence, tears that had waited decades to fall: “My husband needs this to live.” In that moment, she was not a thief. She was a wife.
 
 At the station, as they processed her for felony shoplifting, her blood pressure spiked so high they thought she was having a stroke. An ambulance rushed her to the hospital.

The next morning, still in the thin hospital gown, frail, with wrists bound in cold metal, she was brought before a judge. When she stated her points, the courtroom fell silent.

Her voice was soft, barely audible. “I never thought I'd see a day like this, your honor,” she whispered, her voice trembling. 

“Your honor,” Helen cried, “He couldn't breathe... He's all I have. I just needed his medicine. I didn’t know what else to do. He’s my whole world.”

The judge looked at the charges, then took a long look at the trembling 91-year-old, tiny, terrified woman and sighed. He was visibly shaken, his face a mix of sorrow and disbelief.

“Bailiff,” he said, his voice quiet yet firm. “Get those chains off her.” The judge's expression hardened, but not at her. He was furious about the situation.

“She is not a criminal; she is a victim of a broken system,” he said, his voice echoing through the silent court. “This is a failure of our system.” He dismissed the charges on the spot and ordered immediate support for Helen and George. “I am sending Mrs. Miller back to the hospital, and she is not to be billed,” he ordered. 

This is what real justice looks like. 

My heart broke as I read this and thought about what this poor lady went through, driven by desperate measures to save her precious husband, her true love. A woman who had loved one man for so long that breaking the law felt easier than breaking her vow to him. I know what it is like to see the person you love go downhill.

Thankfully, there are judges who have compassion and common sense.

However, this has not happened in India and likely never will. Despite having thousands of Helen Millers, we do not have judges of that caliber. 

The Indian judiciary has failed us tremendously. We have corrupt judges appointed by a close-knit group of judges, who proudly claim it is a collegium system! And a government that has no backbone to correct it, although it has full power. It has no excuse to offer the people.

In India, courts tend to serve the wealthy and powerful, and I emphasize: they are exclusively for them. Courtrooms have their own influential advocates, sometimes more influential than the judges themselves, because they are politicians-advocates. 

Yes, if you can afford advocates such as Kapil Sibal and anyone from that stable, you can get even the gates of the highest Court open at night. 

Anyway, I never like to comment on the Indian judiciary because I have my reasons for not having faith in the present system.

The story I narrated above, even if it was a made-up story by someone, has enough points to ponder.

I can only imagine the scene: somewhere in a quiet house, an elderly man reclining on the bed by the window for more than 24 hours, watching the door… waiting for his wife’s footsteps, because after 60 years of marriage, he still believes: “She will come back with the medicine.”