Niyati lay stretched across the wide bed, the afternoon light painting soft stripes across the room. Downstairs she could hear the distant melody of laughter—Vidhan’s tiny giggles, Sujata aunty’s delighted coos, the easy chatter of a Sunday gathering. Everyone adored him; he was their little star. He would come to her only when hunger gnawed, when sleep tugged at him, or when a small bump made him cry. Her lips curved into a faint smile at the thought. Her son, so gentle, so easy to love.

Yet the happiness did not take root. An ache threaded through her chest, puzzling and unwelcome. She should have been content. What more did she need than this bright, healthy boy? Still, her thoughts betrayed her, circling back to Ranvijay.