The Farm

Chapter 1: Arrival

Sarah checked her reflection in the rearview mirror one last time before stepping out of her car. At twenty-four, she was in the best shape of her life-five-foot-six with a lean, athletic build honed from years of running and rock climbing. Her arms showed defined muscle beneath sun-kissed skin, her waist tapered to a flat stomach, and her jeans hung comfortably on narrow hips. She'd pulled her dark hair into a practical ponytail, revealing high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. The vet program had been grueling, but this year-long internship at Meadowbrook Dairy would give her the hands-on experience she needed to graduate.

The ranch stretched before her, isolated and picturesque. Rolling pastures dotted with black-and-white Holsteins, a massive red barn, and a two-story farmhouse with peeling white paint. It looked like something from a postcard, though the remoteness made her slightly uneasy. The nearest town was forty minutes away, and cell service had cut out about ten miles back.

She grabbed her duffel bag and walked toward the house. The front door opened before she could knock.

"You must be Sarah!" The woman who emerged was short-maybe five-foot-two-and enormously fat. Sarah tried not to stare, but it was impossible to ignore. The woman had to weigh at least three hundred pounds, her body round and soft, filling the doorway. Her face was pleasant, framed by graying blonde hair, but her cheeks were full and heavy, her neck thick, her chin doubled. She wore a floral dress that strained across her massive belly and breasts. "I'm Margaret. Come in, come in! You must be exhausted from the drive."

Margaret moved with surprising grace despite her size, her body swaying as she led Sarah inside. The house smelled of fresh bread and something sweet-cinnamon, maybe. The interior was cozy, if dated, with worn furniture and lace curtains.

"Thomas!" Margaret called. "She's here!"

A man appeared from the kitchen, and the contrast was startling. Thomas was tall-well over six feet-and rail-thin, almost gaunt. His face was angular, his body all sharp edges beneath a flannel shirt and jeans that hung loose on his frame. He extended a bony hand.

"Welcome to Meadowbrook," he said. His voice was deep, measured. "Margaret's been cooking all morning. Hope you're hungry."

"I could eat," Sarah said, though she'd stopped for lunch just two hours ago.

"Good." Thomas's smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "We have two rules here. Simple ones. First: we eat all our meals together. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner. No exceptions. It's important for the ranch to function as a unit."

"Of course," Sarah said. It seemed reasonable enough.

"Second," Margaret added, her voice warm but firm, "don't touch the calf feed. It's specially formulated, very expensive, and we measure it precisely. The calves need exact portions."

"Understood."

"Wonderful!" Margaret clapped her hands together, the flesh of her upper arms jiggling with the motion. "Let me show you to your room, and then we'll have dinner."

Sarah followed Margaret up the stairs, watching the woman's body shift and sway with each step, her breathing slightly labored. The guest room was small but clean, with a single bed, a dresser, and a window overlooking the pastures.

"Bathroom's down the hall," Margaret said. "Dinner's in twenty minutes. Don't be late-Thomas is particular about punctuality."

Left alone, Sarah unpacked quickly, hanging her clothes in the small closet. She caught her reflection in the mirror above the dresser-still lean, still fit, still herself. The internship would be good for her career. One year. She could handle anything for one year.

On her way to the bathroom, she passed through the hallway and paused. The walls were covered with framed photographs-dozens of them. She stepped closer, studying them in the dim light.

They were all similar: before-and-after shots. All young women, standing in front of the barn. The "before" photos showed fit, healthy individuals in work clothes, smiling at the camera. The "after" photos showed the same people, but transformed. Heavier. Much heavier.

Sarah's eyes moved from frame to frame. A blonde woman, initially slim and athletic, later round and soft with a prominent belly. Another woman, petite and delicate, then massive and wide.

The progression was undeniable. Every single person had gained significant weight during their time here.

She found herself staring at one particular set. The girl in the "before" photo looked about Sarah's age, with a similar build-lean, fit, confident. In the "after" photo, she was easily a hundred pounds heavier, her face round, her body thick and soft beneath her work clothes.

"Admiring the gallery?"

Sarah jumped. Thomas had appeared silently behind her.

"I-yes. Are these all former workers?"

"Every one." He moved beside her, studying the photos with what looked like pride. "We like to document our employees' time here. A year of good food and hard work changes a person."

"They all gained weight," Sarah said, trying to keep her voice neutral.

"Margaret's an excellent cook." Thomas's expression was unreadable. "And we believe in taking care of our people. No one goes hungry at Meadowbrook."

"Dinner's ready!" Margaret's voice called from downstairs.

Thomas gestured toward the stairs. "After you."

The dining room table was laden with food. A massive pot roast surrounded by potatoes and carrots, fresh bread still steaming, a bowl of creamed corn, green beans swimming in butter, and a pie cooling on the sideboard. In front of each place setting sat a tall glass of milk-not the store-bought kind, but fresh from the dairy, cream still visible at the top.

Sarah's stomach was still full from lunch, but the smell was intoxicating.

"Sit, sit," Margaret urged, lowering herself into a chair that creaked under her weight. Thomas took the head of the table, and Sarah sat across from Margaret.

"We'll say grace," Thomas said, and they bowed their heads.

The prayer was brief. Then Margaret began serving, and Sarah watched in amazement as her plate filled with enormous portions. The slice of roast was easily eight ounces, the potatoes piled high, vegetables heaped beside them.

"Oh, I don't think I can eat all-"

"Nonsense," Margaret said, her smile warm but insistent. "You're too thin. We'll fix that."

Thomas had already begun eating, his movements methodical. Margaret cut into her roast with obvious pleasure. Sarah picked up her fork.

The food was incredible. Rich, perfectly seasoned, the kind of home cooking she hadn't had since childhood. She found herself eating more than she'd intended, the flavors overwhelming her earlier fullness.

"Drink your milk," Margaret said, nodding toward Sarah's glass. "Fresh this morning. Nothing better for you."

Sarah lifted the glass. The milk was thick, creamy, almost sweet. She took a sip, then another. It was unlike any milk she'd tasted before-richer, more satisfying somehow.

Thomas's glass sat untouched. Margaret had a smaller glass, perhaps half the size of Sarah's, and sipped it slowly throughout the meal.

By the time Sarah finished, her stomach was uncomfortably full, stretched tight beneath her shirt. She'd eaten everything on her plate without meaning to, and drunk the entire glass of milk.

"Pie?" Margaret asked, already cutting a generous slice.

"I couldn't possibly-"

"You'll insult Margaret if you refuse," Thomas said quietly.

The pie appeared in front of her. Apple, with a lattice crust and vanilla ice cream melting over the top. Sarah picked up her fork.

Later, lying in bed with her stomach still distended and aching, Sarah stared at the ceiling. She could hear Margaret moving around downstairs, the floorboards creaking under her weight. Through the window, moonlight illuminated the pastures.

She thought about the photographs in the hallway. All those people, transformed over the course of a year. The food tonight had been excessive, but surely one meal wouldn't matter. She was active, healthy. She'd work it off.

Still, as she drifted toward sleep, her hand moved unconsciously to her stomach, feeling the unusual fullness there, the slight bloat pressing against her skin.

It was just one meal.

One year.

She could handle it.