Jennifer sat on the edge of her bed, legs spread slightly to give her belly room, the breast pump humming quietly as it did its work. She stared at the wall, zoning out as the bottles filled, her expression unreadable.
It no longer hurt. It was just routine now. Morning pump, evening pump. Her chest ached with weight, with pressure, with how her breasts moved on their own now—huge, soft, and low-slung. Her nipples were swollen and tender, her areolae broad and dark. Watching the milk flow out felt surreal, like watching someone else’s body work.
She wiped at her face. She hadn’t cried—but she’d thought about it.
“I feel like a damn cow,” she muttered, the words bitter and low.
Maya, sitting nearby, didn’t try to sugarcoat it. “I get it. But you’re not. You’re still you, Jen. This is happening to your body—but it’s not who you are.”
Jennifer nodded faintly, even if she didn’t quite believe it. When the bottles were full, she shut the pump off and slowly peeled it away, wiping herself clean with practiced motions.
Getting dressed was harder.
The new maternity leggings she’d bought just yesterday were already snug around her hips and thighs. She had to lean back to pull them up over her belly, and even then, the waistband sat lower than it should. Her oversized top clung to the sides of her breasts now, riding up in the front to reveal the stretched skin of her stomach.
“I look like I’m overdue,” she whispered.
“Then let’s get answers,” Maya said, already at the door.
They stepped out into the city just before noon. The sun was bright, traffic loud, people everywhere—shopping, meeting friends, completely unaware of the urgency driving the two girls through the crowded streets.
Jennifer waddled slowly, carefully, one hand always under her belly for support. Heads turned. Some people stared outright. She kept her gaze down, breathing through the shame, the discomfort, the heat. Maya walked beside her, protective, watchful.
“Where do we start?” Jennifer asked as they passed the bar from that first night.
Maya glanced up at the faded neon sign, then back to her. “We find her. The witch. Someone in this town knows her. And if they don’t…”
She looked back at Jennifer, determination hard in her voice.
“…we’ll make them talk.”