The rhythmic, gentle suckling of little Abhimanyu at her breast grounded Shivanya in the dim, amber-lit quiet of the nursery, but her mind drifted backward, pulled by the heavy gravity of the past. As her fingers lightly stroked her son’s soft, downy hair, a familiar, stinging memory surfaced—a ghost from the fragile, volatile days of her early pregnancy.

It had been barely forty-eight hours since she had first revealed her pregnancy to Abhimaan, transitioning from a state of terror into the suffocating, protective cocoon of his absolute control. Back then, her body was a battleground of intense hormonal surges, severe morning sickness, and fragile vulnerability.