Part 5

Later, after the cake had been cut and the presents opened, Jessica pulled Salem aside into the quiet of her bedroom.

“Are you okay?” Jessica asked softly, closing the door behind them. “You seemed a little… bewildered out there.”

Salem smiled too wide, too bright. “I’m simply happy that we are so close. And I just do not like people touching me. They don’t understand how private this is for me. I’m so scared. I lost a baby before, and I’m just so scared.” Salem’s eyes filled with tears and dropped to Jessica’s stomach, round and alive beneath the fabric. Slowly, reverently, she reached out and laid both hands on it. “She’s perfect,” Salem whispered. “Our perfect little girl.”

Jessica laughed gently, and with a touch of unease. “Our?”

Salem’s grip tightened ever so slightly. Her eyes shimmered with something raw, almost holy. “Don’t you feel it? She’s ours. Yours and mine. We’re in this together, Jess. Two mothers, two baby girls, one bond. We’ll always be here together. Always.”

Jessica swallowed, unsure how to answer. She forced a smile, patting Salem’s hand.

“You’re a good friend, Salem. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I’m your bestie, remember?” Salem bent lower, pressing her ear to Jessica’s belly, whispering with intimate tenderness, “My baby. My sweet girl. I’ll take care of you. Always.” Jessica’s smile faltered, but she said nothing. The moment lingered too long and heavy with something unspoken.

* * *

The house was dark when Salem returned. The only light spilled from the kitchen clock. She kicked off her shoes, the straps of her rubber belly rustling faintly under her dress. The silence was heavy, and she liked it that way. No laughter. No family. No one but her and her baby. She sank onto the couch and closed her eyes. For a moment, she let herself drift back into Jessica’s bedroom. The smell of the lotion on Jessica’s skin. The warmth of her belly in Salem’s hands. The baby moving beneath the skin – alive, fluttering, real. She hugged her arms tight around herself, rocking gently.

“She said it,” Salem whispered to the empty room. “She said she doesn’t know what she’d do without me. That’s what she said.” Her eyes glistened, smile curling slowly across her face. “Because she knows. She feels it, too. It’s not hers anymore. It’s ours. Two mothers. One child. A bond nobody else can understand.” She stood, pacing the living room, arms still wrapped around her belly. Her voice lifted, trembling between reverence and command. “They all looked at us today and they saw it. They saw the truth. Two of us, side by side. Two mothers. Two bellies. One daughter waiting to be born.”

She paused by the mirror, stared at her reflection, and adjusted the rubber swell under her blouse until it looked just right. Her fingers traced the curve lovingly.

“My baby,” she whispered to the reflection. “My sweet girl. She already knows my voice. She already knows who I am. She’ll come to me. She’ll stay with me. She’ll be mine.”

The clock ticked in the kitchen, loud, insistent, like a marching drum pacing into the future toward the salvation of birth. Salem leaned against the wall, eyes closed, lost in the imagined moment where it was already true: the farm, the house, the baby. The smile never left her face.

* * *

Jonah slouched on the couch with boots on and a duffel bag by his feet. He hadn’t packed much. The zipper was pulled shut over his shirts and jeans, and the toothbrush shoved down the side pocket. He didn’t want to admit he’d thought about leaving at all. But the departure had arrived and now it was here, sitting with him like a foul reminder of his failure.

The sound of keys rattled at the door. Salem swept in, cheeks flushed from the cold night air, arms heavy with shopping bags. She set one down on the table. The contents shifted with a clatter of metal on plastic, something sharp wrapped in cardboard. Jonah’s eyes locked on it.

She smiled when she saw him. “You’re home early.”

He didn’t answer.