The sprawling joint family home in Lucknow was a labyrinth of traditions, whispers, and unspoken tensions. Built in the old colonial style with high ceilings and creaky wooden floors, it housed three generations under one roof. Rohan Sharma, at 36, was the eldest son-in-law, married to Priya for seven years. Their life had been a comfortable rhythm of family meals, temple visits, and quiet evenings—until the baby arrived three months ago. Little Aarav was a bundle of joy, but his arrival had brought complications. Priya's milk supply was frustratingly low. Despite endless cups of herbal teas, massages from the local dai, and doctor's visits, she struggled to breastfeed. It wore on her, leaving dark circles under her eyes and a quiet desperation in her voice. "Rohan, what if he doesn't get enough?" she'd whisper at night, her head on his chest. Rohan loved Priya deeply—or at least, that's what he told himself.