The breast milk tastes wrong today," Manik said, staring at the half-empty bottle like it held a curse. His fingers tightened around the glass as Nandini froze mid-step in the doorway, her bare feet sticking to the marble where she'd spilled her own milk that morning--thick droplets now dried into cloudy crescents. Behind her, lakshmi hissed through black-stained teeth, already retreating down the corridor with the ease of someone who knew when a room was about to erupt.

Nandini's nipples throbbed in unison beneath her damp choli, the linen rough against abrasions that never healed. She'd calculated seventeen steps to the cradle--past the lacquered screen, left of the bronze Ganesh--but Manik blocked the path, his shoulder pressing against the carved teak frame like a jailor. His nostrils flared as he sniffed the bottle again, and she watched his Adam's apple move with the same jerking rhythm as his son's shallow breaths across the room.