Chapter 1

Sarah felt the weight of her eight-month twin pregnancy, a heavy, joyful burden in the vast Montana landscape. The Walker ranch, sprawling and powerful, was now her home, Ethan her husband, the heir. She loved him, deeply.

But a chill wind had blown in with Pastor Davies.

The preacher, his eyes too bright, his voice too smooth, stood before the Walker family. Brenda Hayes, Ethan' s childhood friend, was there, pale and leaning on a chair.

"This twin pregnancy," Pastor Davies declared, his voice echoing in the grand living room, "it is a bad omen for the Walker legacy."

He didn't look at Sarah.

"It could affect Brenda's delicate health, her own blessed news." Brenda clutched her stomach, a small, pained sound escaping her lips.

Sarah' s blood ran cold. Brenda claimed to be pregnant too.

Davies' words hung in the air, implying Sarah's babies were not Ethan's, or somehow tainted.

Ethan, his face grim, turned to Sarah. His eyes, once warm, were now distant.

"The pastor is right, Sarah."

Brenda coughed weakly.

"We need to ensure the family' s purity, its future. The doctors will perform a C-section. Early."

"Ethan, no!" Sarah cried, her hands flying to her belly. "They're your children! Our children! It's too soon!"

He looked away. "It' s to remove a curse, Sarah. For the family' s sake. You must do this."

His voice was flat, devoid of the love she knew. Brenda smiled faintly behind her hand.

They dragged her to a makeshift operating room on the ranch. A local doctor, his face sweating, avoided her eyes.

Hands held her down.

The sting of the needle, then numbness.

She heard the doctor' s low voice, then a sharp pressure.

Her babies were taken. She heard no cries.

Silence.

Then, from the next room, Ethan' s voice, clear and strong, "To averting disaster!"

Brenda' s laughter, light and triumphant, joined his.

A monstrous lie had taken root: Brenda had whispered to Ethan for weeks that Sarah was unfaithful, that Liam, Sarah' s childhood friend, was the twins' father. Ethan believed it.

They buried them quickly, somewhere on the vast ranch, in unmarked graves.

Weak, bleeding, grieving, Sarah was pulled back to the main house.

The sight that greeted her ripped through her remaining strength.

Ethan held Brenda close, his lips on hers. An intimate, possessive kiss.

Brenda saw Sarah. Her eyes gleamed.

"Such unlucky babies," Brenda said, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "But don't worry, Sarah. You can always have more."

Sarah' s world tilted.

She needed something, anything. The tiny, hand-knitted blue booties she' d made.

"My booties," she whispered, her voice raw. "Where are they?"

Ethan pulled them from his pocket, dangling them like a toy.

"You want these?" His voice was cold. "Entertain Brenda. Play the guitar for her. She enjoys your music."

He tossed them onto a nearby table. "If she' s pleased, you can have these useless things back."

They forced her into a thin, silk dress. A cold snap had hit Montana; the wind howled outside.

Her fingers fumbled on the guitar strings. The music was hollow, filled with her pain.

Brenda sighed dramatically. "It's so dreary, Ethan. So sad."

She shivered. "Perhaps the fresh air would liven it up. Out in the rain, Sarah. In the mud."

The rain was freezing, turning the ground to icy sludge.

Ethan grabbed Sarah' s arm, his fingers bruising. He dragged her outside.

"Kneel," he commanded.

The icy mud soaked through the thin dress instantly.

He held out a cup. "Drink this. A cleansing tonic. For your sins."

Brenda watched, a smirk playing on her lips. The tonic was bitter, burning her throat.

Sarah choked, then vomited. Blood splattered on the dark mud.

She collapsed.

Ethan turned away, putting his arm around Brenda, leading her back into the warm house.

"She'll be fine," he said, his voice indifferent.

A lone ranch hand, his face etched with pity, found her later. He carried her limp body to a disused line shack, cold and damp.

Fever took her. She drifted, lost in a burning haze.

Through the delirium, a figure emerged. Ethan. He stood over her, his face a mask of contempt.