The Sharma household thrummed with the fervor of a grand puja, the courtyard aglow with oil lamps and draped in marigold garlands, their scent mingling with the heavy smoke of sandalwood incense. The evening air was thick with anticipation, the priest's chants rising and falling as the family gathered to bless Radhika's pregnancy, the heir who would secure their legacy. Aradhya moved through the ritual with practiced precision, her hands trembling as she lit lamps and offered sweets, the fading welts on her arms and back from Vijay's belt a dull ache beneath her cotton saree. Her heart was a storm—despair at her barrenness clashed with a defiance that burned brighter each day. They need me, she thought, arranging the puja tray, even if only for this. I'll endure.