Chapter 1

For five years, my life in our small Utah town was simple.

I was Gabrielle Johns, the librarian, and the wife of Matthew Scott, a man everyone in our church looked up to.

My deepest prayer, the one I whispered every night, was for a child. After years of empty arms and a heart that broke a little more each month, we turned to IVF.

When the doctor told us it was quadruplets, I didn't feel fear. I felt a profound sense of blessing. This was it. This was God answering my prayers four times over.

The pregnancy was brutal. My body ached in ways I never knew it could.

I was constantly sick, swollen, and exhausted. But I held on, my faith a shield against the pain.

Matthew was the perfect husband, a picture of devotion. He organized prayer circles at the church, his voice ringing with piety as he asked for blessings upon me and "our" children.

He held my hand, told me how strong I was, and called my suffering a beautiful testament to a mother' s love.

I believed him. I loved him for it.

The illusion shattered at a church potluck, six months into the pregnancy.

I was resting on a bench in the church garden, the evening air a small relief from the oppressive weight in my belly.

I heard voices from the other side of a thick hedge of roses. It was Matthew and two elders from the church council, men I' d known my whole life.

"It' s a brilliant plan, Matthew, truly," one of them said, his voice low and conspiratorial. "Righteous, even."

"A child for Elyse keeps her quiet and happy," another voice, a man named Joseph, added. "One for Madisyn is a kindness she' d never find on her own. And your sister Molly finally gets what she wants without the trouble. But giving Debra' s parents a grandchild… that' s what makes you a saint in this town."

My breath caught in my throat. My heart started pounding, a frantic, sick rhythm against my ribs.

Matthew chuckled. It was a sound I' d always found charming, but now it was cold, reptilian. "God works in mysterious ways. And Gabrielle… she' s the perfect vessel. So devout, so trusting. She thinks this is all for us."

They laughed. All three of them.

"Her suffering is a righteous sacrifice," Joseph said, the words dripping with sanctimony. "She' s serving a higher purpose, even if she doesn' t know it."

The casserole dish I was holding slipped from my numb fingers and crashed onto the stone path.

The sound was loud in the quiet garden. The voices on the other side of the hedge fell silent.

I didn' t move. I couldn' t. The four tiny lives kicking inside me, the lives I thought were mine, were not mine. I wasn't a mother-to-be. I was just a vessel. An incubator. A righteous sacrifice.

My world, built on faith and love, had just been leveled to the ground.