Vedha was holding her baby in her arms, her back resting against the inclined hospital bed adjusted for her comfort. The baby was nursing at her breast, tiny gulps filling the quiet room. Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed the baby’s forehead. She touched her daughter’s tiny hands and feet, still in disbelief that this life had been growing inside her just hours ago—and now, here she was, her newborn nestled in her arms, suckling gently, a moment of pure, painful beauty cradled in her arms. "You are filth… an unwanted filth in my life," Vedha whispered. With that, she jolted awake. She was alone in her hospital bed, the dream fading into the sterile scent of the hospital room. Her mother, Radha, who had been sitting in the chair beside her, panicked at the sudden movement. “Vedha, what happened?” she asked anxiously. Vedha, still dazed, shook her head slowly. She glanced down at her breast—it was leaking milk. Her breasts felt swollen and painful. Her body had begun to produce milk. Even though she had rejected motherhood, her body hadn’t. “Amma, look at this. Do something,” Vedha said, her voice edged with discomfort. The urgency in her daughter’s voice snapped Radha out of her thoughts. She nodded and said, “Wait, I’ll ask the doctor,” before hurrying out of the room. Inside the doctor’s cabin, Radha explained the situation. The doctor listened patiently and then said, “Since you’re already a mother of two, I don’t need to explain to you the importance of breastfeeding. Try to convince her husband to bring the baby, even if just for a few days. It will ease her pain and be good for the child. If feeding isn’t an option, we’ll have to start medication to stop the milk production. The choice is yours now.” Radha nodded thoughtfully and left the room. She had made up her mind to speak to Arjun—one last time.