Chapter 1: Arrival

Hi all, this is my first story. Definitely a work in progress. I hope you enjoy it!

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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-5'4", lean and athletic from years of running and rock climbing. Defined arms, flat stomach, narrow hips. Her blonde hair was pulled into a 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 Holsteins, a massive red barn, and a two-story farmhouse with peeling white paint. It looked like something from a postcard, though the remoteness tugged at her. The nearest town was forty minutes away, and cell service had cut out miles back.

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

"You must be Sarah!"

The woman was short-maybe five-two-and enormously heavy. Sarah tried not to stare, but it was difficult to ignore how completely Margaret filled the doorway. Her floral dress strained across her body, her cheeks full, her chin doubled. And yet her expression was warm.

"Come in! You must be exhausted."

Margaret moved with surprising grace as she led her inside. The house smelled of fresh bread and cinnamon. Cozy, if dated-worn furniture, lace curtains.

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

A man stepped out from the kitchen, and the contrast was immediate. Tall-well over six feet-and rail-thin, his frame all sharp lines beneath loose flannel and jeans. He extended a bony hand.

"Welcome to Meadowbrook. Hope you're hungry."

"I could eat," Sarah said, though she'd stopped for lunch not long ago.

"Good." His smile was thin. "We have two rules. We eat every meal together-no exceptions. And don't touch the calf feed. It's precisely measured." With a chuckle

"Of course."

"Wonderful," Margaret said. "Your room's upstairs. Dinner in twenty minutes-don't be late."

⸻

The guest room was small but clean, with a window overlooking the pastures. Sarah unpacked quickly, catching her reflection in the mirror-still lean, still herself. One year.

On her way to the bathroom, she slowed in the hallway.

Photographs lined the walls.

Before and after. Young women in front of the barn. In the first, they were fit, healthy, smiling. In the second photo they were all heavier. Every single one.

Her gaze settled on one pair. The "before" looked like her-same build, same confidence. The "after" didn't. The difference had to be a hundred pounds.

"Admiring the gallery?"

She turned. Thomas stood behind her.

"Former workers?"

"Every one." He looked at the photos with quiet pride. "A year of good food and hard work changes a person."

"They all gained weight."

"Margaret's an excellent cook. We take care of our people. No one goes hungry here."

"Dinner's ready!" Margaret called.

Thomas gestured toward the stairs. "After you."

⸻

The table was loaded-pot roast, potatoes, buttered vegetables, fresh bread, and a pie cooling nearby. At each place sat a tall glass of milk, cream visible at the top.

Sarah's stomach was still full, but the smell made it irrelevant.

"Sit," Margaret said, lowering herself into a creaking chair.

Grace was brief. Then Margaret served.

Sarah's plate filled quickly-too quickly. Thick slices of roast, heaping sides.

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

"Nonsense," Margaret said, smiling. "You're too thin."

Sarah hesitated, then took a bite.

The food was incredible-rich, perfectly seasoned. She kept eating. She can see why all of the previous workers gained so much. But she won't be like them.

"Drink your milk."

The milk was thick, almost sweet. She drank more than she meant to.

Thomas's glass remained untouched. Margaret's was smaller.

By the time Sarah finished, her stomach felt tight, stretched. She hadn't planned to eat everything-but she had.

"Pie?" Margaret asked, already slicing.

"I couldn't-"

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

The plate appeared in front of her.

Sarah picked up her fork.

⸻

Later, lying in bed, she stared at the ceiling, her stomach still heavy. Floorboards creaked faintly downstairs. Moonlight washed over the pasture.

She thought about the photographs.

All those women. One year.

One meal didn't matter. She was active. She'd work it off.

Still, her hand drifted to her stomach, feeling the unfamiliar fullness pressing against her skin.

It was just one meal.

One year.

She could handle it.