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𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐒

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Sunshine sat at the kitchen island as Moira quietly cleaned around her, and her mother prepared tea. Her phone was pressed to her ear as she spoke with the hospital, her mind still fixated on the strange turn of events during her visit to the emergency room. 

Something had happened—something that wasn't normal. Sunshine felt it deep in her bones, and now she needed answers.

"Yeah, I think her name was Angie? I'm not sure, but she fainted during my ultrasound." Sunshine's voice wavered as she recounted the incident, her eyes darting toward her mother, who was stirring sugar into her tea with an air of quiet concern. The voice on the other end of the line seemed to pause, and then Sunshine's brows furrowed. "She quit?"

Vivien looked up, her eyes sharp with interest. "Tell them to ask her to call you," she instructed gently.

Sunshine nodded, following her mother's lead. "Could you ask her to call me? Sunshine Harmon. Okay, yeah, thank you," she replied before flipping her phone shut with a sigh. Turning to Vivien, she exhaled again, running her fingers through her hair. "They said they'd give her my number."

"That's good," Vivien replied, offering a reassuring nod as she took a measured sip of her tea.

Before they could say more, the kitchen door swung open, and in strode Constance, holding a covered plate as if she owned the place. Her presence was commanding as always, the scent of something metallic and raw filling the air. 

"Hi, Constance," Vivien greeted, her tone resigned. Sunshine could tell her mother was slowly getting used to Constance's sudden, unannounced visits.

Ignoring Vivien's pleasantries, Constance zeroed in on Sunshine, her sharp gaze softening slightly. She set the plate down near the island with a flourish. "Your mother tells me you've been suffering terribly. That every time you step outside, you're racked with violent morning sickness?" 

Sunshine hesitated, glancing over at Vivien for confirmation, mildly annoyed that everyone seemed to know about her pregnancy now. She sighed, brushing it off. "Um, yeah, something like that."

"Well, you know, my mother always recommended a big platter of offal during the second trimester of pregnancy. She preferred pork," she declared, her fingers moving quickly as she began unwrapping the plate. As the parchment came undone, it revealed a pile of bloodied meat—so red and raw that Sunshine's stomach turned.

Sunshine's mouth fell open, her expression torn between horror and disbelief.

"Sweetbreads," Constance explained, pointing to different sections of the meat with delicate precision. "Now, these two are thymus glands, one from the heart, one from the throat. And this," she gestured to the thickest piece of tissue, "is the pancreas. So good for mother and child. Full of protein, vitamin C, all the B vitamins, and iron. I gifted some to your mother not too long ago."

Vivien gave her daughter an encouraging look. "It's really not that bad," 

Sunshine wasn't convinced, her gaze fixed on the plate of organs that now sat ominously before her.

"You were such a dear, sweet child," Constance continued, her voice softening in an almost maternal way. "Such a comfort to me when Addie passed." Her eyes lingered on Sunshine, brimming with a strange mixture of fondness and intensity. "I wanted to do something nice for you—and for your baby. Though I knew long before you did."

Sunshine's brow furrowed, suspicion creeping into her voice. "What do you mean?"

Constance touched the end of her nose, as if revealing a secret. "I've got the nose of a truffle pig... all those pheromones," she said with a knowing smirk.

Sunshine swallowed hard, her skin crawling at the thought. Oh.

Without skipping a beat, Constance turned to Moira, who had just closed the dishwasher. "Moira, why don't you sauté these for Sunshine's lunch? Do 'em the way you used to for me, remember? With sweet butter."

Moira looked over at Sunshine with a resigned nod. "I'd be happy to do that for Ms. Harmon."

"Thanks, Constance..." Sunshine said through gritted teeth, forcing politeness through the discomfort as she watched Constance walk toward the door.

"It's no trouble at all," Constance replied dismissively, leaving as suddenly as she had arrived.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Sunshine's stomach dropped. She turned to her mother with wide eyes, silently pleading for an escape from the absurdity. But Moira had already moved to the stove, pulling out a pan and placing the raw meat into it. The sizzling sound filled the air as Moira glanced back over her shoulder at Vivien.

"May I say something that could be considered out of turn, but that is sincerely heartfelt?" Moira asked.

Vivien set her teacup down carefully, watching Moira with a raised brow. "I guess so."

Moira's tone dropped, taking on an edge that was sharper than the knife she used to stir the offal. "Cheating on one's pregnant wife qualifies as an unspeakable criminal act. It's on a par with murder. And I'll tell you one thing I know—if I know anything at all—Dr. Harmon will cheat again, if given half the chance."

Sunshine shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she exchanged a quick glance with her mother, whose face had hardened into a mask of forced composure. The wound was still fresh—Sunshine knew that. She had never forgiven her father for what he'd done, and now, with everything spiraling out of control, her parents separating had slipped her mind.

When Moira finished her task, walking over to the island and placing a plate of the sautéed meat in front of Sunshine. "Just a pinch of sea salt, a tiny squeeze of lemon, if you like. Though I prefer it without," Moira said, her voice light. "And ma'am, I've left the pancreas uncooked. They say it's the tenderest organ of them all, especially when eaten raw."

Sunshine stared at the plate, then let out a nervous laugh. "Are you serious?"

Moira nodded. "Think of the baby."

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The crisp December air bit at Sunshine's skin as she stepped out of her mother's car, her breath visible in the cold. She shoved the keys deep into her pocket, wrapping her jacket tighter around her body as she walked across the pavement, her boots echoing faintly against the concrete. 

She stopped for a moment, her gaze lifting to the imposing structure of the Catholic church where the doctor had agreed to meet her. The towering stone walls and stained glass windows loomed overhead.

She hadn't expected to be brought here. A church. The irony of it twisted in her mind. Did the doctor think she was carrying a divine miracle, too? The very thought made her stomach churn, her hand instinctively resting over her growing belly as she took a deep breath and pushed forward.

The heavy wooden doors groaned as she opened them, stepping into the interior. The faint scent of incense filled the air, mingling with the cold draft that swept in behind her. The church was vast, the rows of wooden pews stretching out on either side of the aisle that led down to the altar. 

Votive candles flickered and above, a massive cross hung from the ceiling. Sunshine's eyes lingered on it for a moment before she spotted the doctor standing near the candles, clutching something to her chest.

"Angela?" Sunshine called out softly, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet expanse of the church as she walked down the isle.

Angie flinched at the sound of her name, her body stiffening as she turned to face Sunshine. "Sunshine," 

Sunshine shoved her hands into her pockets as she finally reached the woman. "Um, thanks for agreeing to meet with me."

Angie took a step back, her knuckles white around the edges of the Bible as she held it close to her chest. "That's, uh, probably close enough," 

Sunshine blinked as she tried to process the doctor's unease. "Okay..." She swallowed hard, her eyes drifting around the church. "Why... why the church?"

"It's where I feel safe," Angie replied quickly, her voice brittle, as though it might crack at any moment. Her eyes darted nervously around, never lingering on Sunshine for long.

"The hospital said you quit your job... and that the machine malfunctioned, but I've been worried about it." Her voice wavered. "I don't know, you just seemed... scared?"

"Yes," Angie whispered. "And I've been praying about it ever since. I saw the unclean thing... what you carry in your womb. The plague of nations. The Beast."

Sunshine felt her blood run cold, her limbs stiffening as her mind tried to grasp what Angie was saying. The Beast? Plague of nations? This was insane. This whole pregnancy was already a whirlwind of confusion and fear but now Angie was spewing religious prophecy? All this time, Sunshine had tried to convince herself that maybe, just maybe, it was God's baby. But what if she had been wrong?

"What?" Sunshine's voice came out in a breathless whisper, her lips parted in shock as she stared at the woman before her.

"I saw the little hooves," 

Sunshine's world tilted. Her stomach dropped as the words hit her. A nightmare she had had not long ago resurfaced in vivid clarity—the memory of her swollen belly, the feeling of something clawing from within, hooves scraping against her insides. She hadn't told anyone about it. It was too disturbing, too real, but now...

Her chest tightened, her breath quickening as panic overtook her. "I... I have to go," she stammered as she backed away from Angie, her legs shaky beneath her. She turned, bolting down the aisle, her footsteps echoing like thunder in the empty church.

As she neared the doors, Angie's voice rang out behind her. "And the woman was full of the filthiness of her fornication!" she cried, her words steeped in Biblical fervor. "The mother of harlots and abominations of the Earth!"

Sunshine's hands fumbled with the doors, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She stumbled outside into the cold air. The wind stung her cheeks as she hurried back to the car, her mind reeling, the words echoing in her skull.

The Beast. Hooves. The mother of abominations.

Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, the life growing inside her now feeling more alien than ever.

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