Part 3

Salem swallowed, voice trembling slightly but firm. “I understand. I… I assure you, the funds are in process. It’s just… I need a few more days. The bank…”

“There’s no room for delay,” Leland said. “If we don’t receive a confirmation by Friday, I’m afraid we’ll have to move forward without you. I can’t stress enough that the seller is very serious about the legal consequences. This is not a small business you are purchasing. This is a multimillion-dollar business.”

Salem’s grip tightened on the phone. She bit her lip, shaking off panic and slipping into the role of a wealthy person filled with indignation which she had delivered countless times. “Yes. I… I understand. You’ll see the funds. Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”

The agent hesitated. “Very well. I expect confirmation soon. Otherwise, we are looking at legal consequences from the seller and our office as well. Goodbye, Ms. Brody.”

She hung up and let out a long, shaky breath, pressing both hands to her belly as if that alone could steady her nerves.

After the phone call, suddenly, Salem was transported to another place: there was Jonah, and Leland speaking with the farm owner afar, the low sun blanketing the blueberry rows in gold. Salem smiled, mud on her boots, hair tangled in the wind. Jonah had laughed, wiping sweat from his brow, watching her run down a row of low brush, pretending to inspect the fruit with expertise.

“This place is perfect,” she had said, twirling around, skirt brushing the dirt. “Can you imagine it in a few months? Our little homestead, the baby running around. Oh, Jonah, it’s going to be amazing.”

He had smiled at her, tired but amused, tugging her hand. “Yes… amazing. I love it here,” he said and for one peaceful moment stared into the horizon believing there were a way and money, and a baby, and a homestead.

Salem had laughed. The whole farm smelled of soil and berries. She had felt alive, untouchable, as though the world was hers once again, even with the mistakes she knew she would have to fix later.

* * *

Carla and Denise exchanged a glance, unease prickling at their skin. “She’s… imagining something,” Carla whispered.

Denise nodded. “Look at her eyes. She’s in a different world and muttering.”

Salem put down the receiver calmly with a smile. She pressed both hands to her belly, rocking slightly, whispering words she wouldn’t let anyone hear: “Soon… soon it’ll all be mine… everything… the land… the baby…”

Salem stared at the dead phone in front of her, her reflection faint in the black plastic. The silence of the clinic pressed down on her. She curled her hands into fists and pressed them against her belly, rocking slightly still. “They don’t understand,” she whispered toward the belly. “They never understand. Money’s nothing. Paper. Numbers. That man – Leland – he talks like he’s the gatekeeper, like he holds the keys, but he doesn’t. No one holds me back. No one.” Her voice rose and then softened, as though she were coaxing someone unseen. “I’ve already walked those fields. I’ve seen the fruit rows, the earth ready to give itself up to me. The farmhouse that needs love. That house needs me. And I’ll give it all. I’ll make it right. Better than right. Perfect.” Her fingers spread over her stomach, clutching at the curve of the false swell beneath her blouse. “I can feel everything moving into place. Everyone doubting, everyone sneering behind my back – they don’t see what I see. They can’t. They’ll be sorry. So, so sorry.” Her tone sharpened and her conviction hardened into a vow. “They’ll look at me and know: I’m not small, I’m not poor, I’m not barren, and I’m not broken. I’ve been chosen. Me. This is the beginning. It’s all mine, all waiting, and nothing – nothing – will keep me away from it.” She sat back, breathing hard, her chest rising and falling. A thin smile curled across her lips and a dangerous serenity settled in her. “Soon,” she murmured. “Soon everyone will understand. And when they do, they’ll see what I’ve built. What I’ve become. They’ll wish they’d believed sooner.” She opened her eyes, staring at the wall clock ticking overhead, every second a beat of her inevitability. The storm of her certainty enveloped the quiet clinic.

“I don’t know how she keeps this up,” Denise frowned. “It’s like she’s living in a different reality.” The nurses shook their heads quietly and moved on, leaving Salem alone with the echo of her own delusions and spinning through the fields of her imagined farm, and the future she intended to claim no matter the cost.