u/jadegreen88

The sign hanging on the front of the door said: Satisfaction not guaranteed. NO REFUNDS. But I had never been more sure of anything in my life. I pushed it open and walked inside. 

Fuck it. I needed it gone. 

“Welcome in! So, how did you hear about us?” the lady at the front desk asked.

“A friend said you could help me get rid of my problem.” 

“Absolutely. That’s what we’re here for! Now, if you could just fill out these consent forms for me, we can get started with your evaluation.”

I glanced through all the legal jargon without much thought, looking only for the spots I had to initial. It was just a cosmetic procedure after all. I mean, what could go wrong?

With every stroke of the pen, the thing pulsed and throbbed. Like it knew the hold it had on me was coming to an end. Good, I thought. It was the reason everyone hated me. Why I couldn’t get a job, or a date. The cause of every failure in my life.

You don’t know what it’s like—living with your enemy attached to you. A constant reminder with every look in the mirror. There was only so much makeup could do to cover it. 

I signed my name at the bottom and handed the clipboard back through the little window. 

“Cash or card?” 

“Uh, card,” I said, handing it over to her. 

She smiled, and a door slowly creaked open to the left of me. 

“End of the hall, last door on the right.”

I nodded and pressed forward, heart pounding from both nerves and excitement. I was so ready for the new me. I just hoped it wouldn’t hurt too much.  
The fluorescent lights flickered from above, making my skin twitch and my heart race faster. A buzzing sound coming from overhead seemed to echo through the hall, vibrating in my brain and behind my eyeballs. 

A man dressed in a white coat opened the door right as I approached. 

“Right this way, ma’am.” 

The room smelled like alcohol and burnt flesh. In the center, an exam chair—much like you’d see in a dentist’s office. 

“Why don’t you have a seat here and we’ll take a look, hmm?”

He pointed the light into my face. I scrunched my eyes tightly closed as he inspected the monstrosity protruding from my forehead. The latex from his glove catching against the raw, coarse surface of it. 

“And it’s always looked like this?” he asked, eyebrows raised. 

“Well, uh… no. I’ve tried to get rid of it before on my own. Nothing has worked, though. It’s only made it worse.”

He chewed the inside of his lip as he moved my head slightly from side to side, examining every inch of it. 

“That’s alright. We can take care of this for you—no problem. You just sit tight, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Two more people entered the room with him when he returned, carrying several sharp, metal tools and syringes on silver trays. 

“We’re going to numb the area first, so you may feel some slight discomfort in the injection site. Why don’t you close your eyes for me and just relax?”

I gave a nervous half-smile, then, with a deep breath, leaned back into the chair. Right before I shut my eyes, I caught a glimpse of the needle. It was huge. I swallowed hard and clenched my teeth.

It’ll be worth it. 

The cold, wet touch of an alcohol swap. Then, white-hot piercing pain, shooting through me like battery acid. I let out a weak cry and dug my nails into the arms of the chair. Tears flooded my eyes, streaming down the side of my face and into my hair.

“There we are. That wasn’t so bad, right?”

I shook my head, but refused to open my eyes yet. I could hear clanging and whispering as they prepared to do whatever they were going to do to me. I shifted around in the seat, my skin hot and flushed.

“Can you feel this?”

I could. But just barely—and I didn’t want the needle again. 

“No.”

“Good, then we’ll get started. This shouldn’t take too long.”

Harsh, cold metal against my skin. Then burning. Slight at first. Then deeper, more intense. Fuck. And then blinding pain—much worse than before. My entire skull lit up like a coal in a fire. Wetness spread across my face as the assistants hurried to wipe it away. I thought I was going to pass out. 

“Almost there.”

So I held on. Then he began digging deeper with the tool, trying to get to the root. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. I bit down hard on my tongue instead. Warm copper, more pain. 

Clang.  

“Got it! Okay, let’s get you cleaned up, and then we’ll get you on your way.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Can I see?” 

He handed me the mirror. Slowly, I held it up to my face. I gasped. Holy fuck. It worked—I couldn’t believe it. It was gone, and I was beautiful. And finally… finally, the whole world would be able to truly see that now. For the first time. 

“Oh, God. Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Tears welled in my eyes. 

“You’re welcome. Now, go out there and show everyone your new face!”

I walked back down the hall with a smile on my face, ready to start my life. And then, I noticed something. My voice—the one inside my head. It was gone. Panic surged through me as I searched my mind for the sound of it. No words, just feelings. I was alone. Completely. 

The lady at the front desk never looked up as I passed the window. Outside on the street, people walked past, ignoring me. Then a man ran straight into me, knocking me over onto the ground. I looked back up at the sign on the front of the door. 
NO REFUNDS. 

 

I let all the plants die. It didn't matter; he was gone. Nothing mattered. So the dishes sat in the sink. The laundry piled up. And I let all the plants die. I sat with their corpses, all of us rotting alongside one another. It only seemed right.

There was no one here to care for anymore. Just me. Yet I couldn't bring myself to look in the mirror, let alone pass a broom in the house. The rest of the world had kept going on like nothing even happened, but my world had ended. That's how it felt. All I could think about was how I would've done anything to have him back.

The first few days after David was killed were unbearable. It's still a blur to me. The sun rose and set, yet I remained frozen all the while. Lost. Hollow. I didn't eat. I didn't drink. I simply existed, and barely. Felt like I was living as half a person. 

Phone calls went unanswered. Mail left unopened. It wasn't until the day of his funeral that I actually mustered up the strength to brush my hair and put on real clothes. And only because I had to. 

His mother insisted on keeping up appearances, and because David and I hadn't thought to set up a life insurance policy, she had to pay for the whole thing. I'd rather have mourned alone. Quietly. I hated the whole spectacle of it. A crowd of faces, each silently begging me to be okay when I couldn't be. But at least it meant I'd get to see him again, finally. 

As I looked down at the body of my husband lying in his coffin, I could only see one thing: a vacant shell. He didn't look peaceful. He didn't look like he was sleeping. He looked empty. Like a stranger—cold and waxy. David wasn't in there anymore, and my heart shattered into a thousand pieces over and over again. 

But things didn’t end there. A love like that is never truly over. In fact, it was only the beginning. And eventually, one day, I got up. And I cleared all those dead plants away.

David and I had gotten married right after he graduated college. All my hopes and dreams—set on that one man. He got a job doing the books at the used car lot downtown. Said he could use his degree for that, at least. I waited tables, making good enough in tips. 

We wanted to start a family together right away. I didn't have much of my own, and David didn't want much to do with his. It was supposed to be a fresh start for the both of us. A new life. 

We tried for about a year with no success. I was starting to think it just wasn't meant to be. But David never lost hope that we'd be blessed with a child when God was ready to give us one. He even decided he wanted to show him just how ready we were to be parents. 

"Camille, I'm gonna build us a crib. With my own two hands, using wood I chop down myself."

"But why?" I asked. "The test was negative again."

He took a deep breath, then reached his hand out to place it on top mine. 

"Well, because it'll take time, and dedication. And a lot of hard work. And then, maybe by the time it's finished, we'll be ready for our blessing." 

I wanted so much for him to be happy. For both of us to feel complete. He needed something to focus on, to feel like he was doing something. Fixing this for us. With tears filling my eyes, I told him I loved him, and then said the words I wish I never had.

"I think that's a wonderful idea."

And so my husband went into those woods, for me. For us. For the promise of the life we'd always dreamed of. He went into those woods full of love. Full of hope. And he never came back.

I waited for him to come around that corner, arms carrying a bundle of wood. Face beaming with pride. That sweet smile of his. I waited until the sun sank low beneath the trees.  

When he didn't come home, I panicked. I tried to tell myself he must've gotten hurt, or lost. But that he'd be okay. Whatever had happened, it would be okay. It had to be. 

But it wasn't. The game warden found his body the next day. Mauled. Chest ripped apart. Bear attack, they said. Or possibly a mountain lion. I didn't want all the gruesome details. I just wanted to see him.

But they wouldn't let me. Said it was too much for me to handle, and that I could say goodbye at the funeral. But I didn't want to say goodbye. I refused to.

After we buried him, I couldn't go back home. Couldn't face those empty four walls alone anymore. I knew what I had to do. I drove David's old truck to a beat up shack at the edge of town—where an old woman named Josephine lived. 

Everyone thought she was crazy, but I didn't. I remembered very clearly. 

When I was about 5 or 6, I saw her standing outside of the grocery store, kneeling over a bird that had flown into the window. It was dead; even at that age I was sure of it. Yet, she held her hand over its body for a few moments, whispering something under her breath. 

My mom tried to convince me that the bird had simply stunned itself on the glass, and that it had just gotten up and flown away on its own. But I knew what I saw. Josephine had healed that bird. She spoke life back into it. If she could do that to help a bird, well... then she could do it for me too. 

I walked past the old gate, down the long gravel driveway of her property. The front door swung open, slamming against the side of the house before I could get one foot on the porch. Ms. Josephine stood in the doorway. 

I was taken aback—she didn't look any older than she had twenty years before. She'd been a recluse for quite some time, but I had expected her red hair to have turned white by then.

She didn't say hello. Didn’t smile. Her eyes alone told me she knew why I was there.

"The answer is no," she said. 

I stood there, shocked for a moment. Maybe she didn't know. Maybe she didn't recognize me. 

"Ms. Josephine," I protested. "I'm not here to try and sell you something. My name is—"

"Camille. Yes, I know." 

"So, you do remember me?"

"Of course I do. And I was so very sorry to read about what happened to David. But the answer is no."

My heart sank in my chest. I stepped forward, pleading. 

"You don't understand... look, I know you can help me. I won't tell anyone, I swear. Me and David will go away, start a new life someplace else and... no one will ever know what you did. Please!" 

"That's not the consequence you should be worried about, child." 

Consequence? What could be worse than what I was already feeling? 

"I don't care!" I shouted. "Whatever it is, I'll take it. I have to get him back. I know you can do it. I've seen it before!"

With a scowl, she turned away from me and started walking back into the house. 

"Doesn't work the same way with people, Camille. Universe don't like being asked favors that big."

As the door slammed shut in my face, my heart broke again. My last hope snatched away from me in an instant. Just like David's was.

I returned home to the filth and rot that my life had become. What other choice did I have? I carried my heavy limbs to my darkened prison of a bedroom, and collapsed onto the floor.

I cried. Tears poured from my eyes like rain from a violent storm. I wailed and screamed like thunder crashing down from above. An ocean of grief, and I was a sinking ship.

But then, something reached down inside me and touched my soul—like a divine gift. A memory. A prayer. The words Josephine had whispered over that bird. I could hear them in my heart, clear as day.

That night, I didn't sleep. I couldn't. Instead, I drove down to the cemetery, with those words repeating in my head over and over. If Josephine wouldn't help me, I'd just have to try and do it myself. That was all there was to it. I just couldn't go on being me without him. There was no me without him. I knew that.

When I got to his grave, I knelt down over it, tears streaming from my eyes. Grief twisting and turning inside of me. I was sick with it. Eaten up alive. I held out my trembling hand, just as Josephine had with that bird, and began to speak aloud the words she had spoken that day—best I could remember. 

They didn't make any sense to me. Just sounds, really. But I was sure I had gotten it right. I was so, so sure. 

So I sat there, staring at that cold heap of dirt, repeating those words over and over. Waiting for my husband to wake up... to crawl his way out. Pounding my fists at the ground, screaming for him to come home to me. But he didn't. 

Just silence. 

My body rose with the sunlight, but I was gone. I truly was. It felt like there was nothing left of me. Yet, my body still carried me away from there, hopeless, in the deepest state of nothingness I'd ever felt. And I wanted to let that darkness consume me—I didn't want to feel anything anymore. 

I got back into the truck and started heading for the river. Streetlights blurred as the road rolled out behind me, until I saw that murky black out ahead. It wanted me. Called to me. It was the only thing left for me to do. 

But then I heard something. No—felt something. I slammed the brakes down hard and stopped right at the edge of the water. 

It was a heartbeat.

Not in my chest. Not mine. A second heartbeat inside of me, pounding louder than my own—coming from my stomach. 

My hand shot down to press against it. Yes... it was real. This tiny flutter, pulsating against my fingers. I wasn't empty. I wasn't hopeless. 

I was pregnant.

I just knew it. It was a miracle. God had blessed me. A little too late, which stung deeply. But still, he'd given me a gift all the same. And even though David wasn't here to get to be the father he always wanted to be, at least a piece of him lived on. Inside of me. 

Suddenly, everything in me said I had to protect that life. Hold onto it as tightly as I could. Take care of it. Which meant I had to start taking care of myself again. I had to find a way to go on. Get better, for the both of us. 

I took a deep breath, threw the truck in reverse, then backed up away from the edge of the river. I couldn't hear the heartbeat anymore, but I still knew it was there. I could feel it—the way you can feel when someone loves you. It was a warmth that brushed against my soul. 

When I got back home, I slowly began to clear away the rot that had overwhelmed me since the day David didn't come back. I washed the dishes. I did all the laundry. Swept the floors. And the plants—the ones I'd nurtured for so long then let wither away so quickly? I promised to start again. 

I'd be better this time. 

Then, it was time to face the mirror. I didn't know how I'd look in this state. How I'd be able to face the world, to be a good mother if I could fall apart so easily. But when I finally raised my head, the woman looking back at me wasn't a mess. She was glowing. Happy. Strong. 

With a smile, I sat and waited for my blessing to grow. To come home to me. I didn't realize... I wouldn't have to wait long.

Only a few weeks had passed, but somehow I looked like I was about six months pregnant. I was eating a lot, though. It was like I was constantly overcome with this ravenous hunger. No matter how much food I consumed, it was never enough. 

David’s mother was still paying the bills, so I was able to keep myself hidden in the house for longer. I didn’t want anyone seeing me this way. They’d have too many questions—want me to go and see a doctor. And I couldn’t do that. 

I wasn’t stupid. Deep down, I knew something was wrong. I just didn’t want to admit it.

After all, I had nothing left. No other hope to cling to. This baby was my only way forward in the world. The only thing I had left to live for. Each flutter, each tiny kick reminded me of that. 

So I stayed locked away, hidden from the world. I kept quiet about my rapidly growing belly. My insatiable hunger. The strong pounding of a heart inside of me that was not my own. The pain I was feeling from deep within. It would all be worth it, once my little miracle arrived. 

The days seemed to bleed together, one into the next. Time means nothing when you never see the sunlight. The only proof of its passage were the changes that began to take place in my body. 

Along with my stomach, my breasts became painfully engorged. Dark purple veins pressed against the surface of my pale skin, pulsing with thick, hot blood that begged for escape. My ankles became a swollen mass that folded forward onto the tops of my feet. 

Sleeping became increasingly difficult. Not only because of my size, but the constant temperature fluctuations I was experiencing as well. Sweating, freezing, then back again. There was no comfort to be found. 

Then, one particularly restless night, something happened. Something that changed everything. I had just finally begun to doze off when something jolted me awake.

A voice.

Heart pounding, my eyes darted around the dark room—I could see nothing. There was no one there. I knew I'd heard it, though. 

A grown man's voice. David's voice. It was unmistakable. Muffled, yet somehow clear as day. Like I was hearing it coming from both inside and outside.  

"Camille..."

I threw the covers from my body and shot up out of bed, nearly wobbling over onto the floor. I hit the switch to turn on the light, only to find myself alone in the room. 

I held my breath, and listened closely. 

“Camille… can you hear me?” 

It couldn’t be.

“David? Is… is that you? Where are you?!” 

My stomach dropped as I felt squirming and shifting inside of me. I lifted my nightgown in a panic and looked down at my stomach. 

“Oh… my… God.” 

The outline of a hand bulged upward, lifting my skin as it pushed from beneath it. It was him. My husband. Moving. Speaking. Growing inside of me.

I placed my hand onto my stomach against his as I tried to catch my breath. A wave of nausea and dizziness crashed into me, and I lowered myself onto the ground beside my bed. 

“David… I… I brought you back. You’re here. You came back to me.” 

Tears rolled down my cheeks. God had heard my prayers. Our prayers. And he had answered them. I was the vessel for our love, and everything was going to be okay. I just had to stay strong for him. Whatever happened, we could make it through this—together.

"You did. I'm here, Camille. I just need to grow, my body isn't ready yet. Just a little while longer, okay? I love you so much."

"I love you too, David. We'll be together again soon. No matter what it takes."

With how fast he'd already grown in just a month, I knew it wouldn't be long. I kept eating as much as I could to keep his hunger at bay. Made sure he had all the nutrients he needed. 

I watched my belly begin to swell and stretch unnaturally to accommodate his ever-growing arms, legs and torso. My skin pulled so tightly, tiny rips began to form in it. Any movement at all was torture. Each step taken, excruciating. 

Yet I kept the house clean, and the bed made. I cared for my body as well as his. And he looked after me, too. If he needed to move or shift his position, he'd warn me beforehand so I could brace for it. Whispering soft words of encouragement, telling me what a good job I was doing. Reminding me how strong I was being. 

He did his best to keep still during the day when I had to do the chores. Simply moving around at all in that state was an intensely laborious act of love. I appreciated his support through it all. 

When I'd lay in bed at night, he'd become more active. To distract from the overwhelming agony it caused me, he'd tell me stories, reminiscing about all the great moments we had together.   The day we met. Our wedding. Painting the walls of our new home. 

"Hey, Camille..." he said, elbow stabbing sharply into my ribs. "You remember that night I took you to see the fireflies out in the woods? That was magical, wasn't it babe?"

I bit down onto the pillow beside me to stop from screaming, and closed my eyes. I could see them—dancing in the trees, swirling all around us. 

Just a little while longer. 

Yet, I knew the worst was yet to come. I was at the sink washing dishes one day when I was so harshly forced to reconcile with that fact. 

"Camille... I need to come out soon."

"I know that, David. It's okay"

"It's going to hurt."

"I know..." 

It was going to do a lot more than just hurt. But I didn’t want to think about that yet. I couldn’t. 

"I'm so sorry." 

"Don't be," I whispered. "Everything is going to be alright." 

But inside, both our hearts began to race. I couldn't do this alone—I was going to need help. I knew that. And there was just one way to turn for it.

Ms. Josephine. 

She was the only one who could help me now. But seeking her out would mean having to face the world like that. I could barely even walk anymore with my stomach nearly dragging the ground. How was I going to drive? What if someone saw me? 

"David, I need you to ball yourself up for me as tight as you can, okay?" 

“Why?”

“Because we’ve got to leave the house.”

“Where are we going?” 

“To find a way to get you out.”

I felt him start to shift his body within me, his head pressing down hard against my cervix as he twisted and contorted. Feet kicked against my ribcage, almost cracking them apart. An elbow protruded from my stomach, lifting the skin as he pushed against it. I steadied myself against the kitchen counter and held my breath until he stopped.  

Then I fashioned a sling for my belly with an old bedsheet, and wrapped it as tightly as I could. I was enormous. A swollen, pale mass snaked with dark veins and bloody rips at every breaking point of my skin. But I could cover myself with a blanket. And it would be getting dark soon.

I just couldn’t wait any longer, I knew my water could break at any moment. I had to try. Josephine wouldn’t help me bring him back, but maybe she knew the last step. How to bring him into existence… without snuffing out my own. 

I clung to that hope as I drove David’s old truck down that gravel road. One hand on the wheel, the other on him. My foot pressing down hard on the gas. The glow of her porch light: my beacon of salvation. 

Once again, she met me outside before I could even knock on the door. I didn’t say a word; I just let the blanket fall to the ground. 

She didn’t gasp, or even raise her eyebrows. She just shook her head. 

“I’m sorry. There’s no help for you, child.” 

I couldn’t accept that. 

“Ms. Josephine, please… I’m scared. How do I get him out? Please, just tell me—there’s gotta be a way!!”

“Ain’t no easy fix. Not without it killing one or both of you. One life for another, that’s just the way it works. I don’t know what to tell you. You shouldn’t have done this, Camille. There are consequences to everything in life. This one is yours.”

My heart fell to my feet and the world turned dark again. It was the truth. I’d chosen this, whether I’d realized it or not. And there was no going back now.

“So… I’m supposed to do this alone?!”

“I’ll be with you,” David said.

And that’s all that truly mattered. It was going to be okay, even if it wasn’t. It just had to be. So we went back home. And waited. 

Then the storm began to roll in. Ripples of white hot pain surged across my body. A flood of thick, clear mucous poured out from me onto the bed below. Muscles contracting, pelvis cracking. I screamed in agony for hours and hours. 

I thought about trying to cut him out, but I was terrified to hurt him. There was no clean place to slice without risking that. Besides, it was already too late. He was pressing hard now. I needed to push.

The pain was unbearable, yet I endured. I knew it was hurting him, too—I could hear his whimpers and groans between each scream of mine. The popping of joints from their sockets, the ripping of flesh. It was all deafening. But I had to do it. There was no other choice. 

His head began to emerge, and I could feel the blood pouring out of me. A crimson tidal wave of my love and devotion.  

I pushed again. 

Bloodcurdling screams rang out from both our mouths. 

Crack. 

Bones and soft tissue gave way to shoulders, then arms. 

I pushed again.

And so did he. 

CRACK. 

My legs buckled and fell down limp. Skin torn up to what once was my bellybutton. The internal structure of my body, crumbling under the weight of him like a rotted leaf. I couldn’t feel anything anymore. I watched as my husband squirmed, clawed, and forced his way out of me, taking everything that was left of me with him. 

He had come back to me. Finally. But it was too late. 

My body began to collapse in on itself without its inhabitant. My miracle. My blessing. I was empty again. Hollow. But not alone. 

The room darkened. Each pump of my heartbeat bringing me closer to death. He held me in his arms, and whispered,

"I’m so sorry. I'll bring you back, Camille. I'll find a way to bring you back. I love you. A love like ours never ends.”