Meera had been working in the Sharma household for three years. She was twenty-eight, soft-spoken, and had no family left in the city. Six months earlier a hormonal imbalance—diagnosed after irregular cycles and unexplained weight changes—had caused her body to start producing milk. The doctor said it was hyperprolactinemia, treatable but slow. Until the medicine fully worked, her breasts stayed heavy, tender, and full. She bound them tightly under her saree every morning and prayed no one would notice the damp patches.

Mr. Sharma, the owner, was fifty-two, thick-set, and used to getting whatever he wanted. His son, Rohan, was twenty-four, home from college for the summer, restless and entitled. Both of them had noticed the way Meera’s blouse strained, the faint sweet smell that clung to her after long days of cleaning and cooking.