Chapter 3 - “How Many?”
Caleb stared at my stomach.
“You’re pregnant.”
Not hello.
Not I’m sorry.
Not are you all right?
Just those two words.
Luke remained several yards behind me.
Close enough to help.
Far enough to let me decide.
“How long?” Caleb demanded.
I folded my arms.
“You threw me out three days before I learned.”
His gaze snapped toward Luke.
“Is it his?”
“No.”
Caleb started calculating.
I watched realization spread across his face.
“Mine.”
There was no tenderness in the word.
Only possession.
“You don’t know anything yet.”
He moved toward me.
Luke stepped forward.
Caleb stopped.
“Get out of my way.”
Luke’s voice remained quiet.
“My property.”
“That’s my wife.”
Luke looked at me.
Not Caleb.
“What do you want, Sarah?”
That simple question changed everything.
Caleb had spent years telling me what I wanted.
Luke asked.
“I want him to leave.”
Caleb stared at me.
“You’re carrying my child.”
I almost smiled at the singular.
“How many?” he asked.
I remained silent.
“How many, Sarah?”
“Ten.”
He laughed.
Then he saw my face.
His laughter died.
“Ten?”
“Yes.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
He gripped the fence.
“Come home.”
Home.
The word almost hurt.
“What home?”
“Our home.”
“You took my key.”
“I was angry.”
“No. You were calm.”
His expression changed.
“You said I gave you silence.”
“Sarah—”
“You left me walking in July heat with twenty-eight dollars.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Which one?”
He stopped.
“Throwing me out? Blaming me? Or hiding your own medical results?”
His face turned pale.
That was the closest thing to an answer I needed.
“You went through my records.”
“They were part of our case.”
“You had no right.”
For a moment, I genuinely could not believe him.
“No right to learn why you spent seven years blaming me?”
He looked toward Luke.
“This man filling your head with this?”
“No.”
“Then why are you acting different?”
Because I had learned what respect felt like.
But I didn’t say that.
“I finally hear myself.”
Caleb’s voice softened.
“Sarah, come home. We can fix this.”
“You want ten babies.”
“They’re my children.”
“You don’t even know them.”
“They’re Walkers.”
There it was.
A surname mattered more to him than the woman carrying them.
I stepped backward.
“If you want legal rights, use legal channels.”
His jaw hardened.
“You think some ranch hand can take my family?”
Luke finally spoke.
“Nobody’s taking anything from you.”
Caleb turned toward him.
“Stay out of this.”
Luke shook his head.
“You came onto my ranch.”
Caleb pointed toward me.
“When those babies are born, I’m coming back.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“Then bring a lawyer.”
He left.
But the threat remained.
Within a week, his attorney contacted mine.
Suddenly Caleb wanted reconciliation.
Suddenly he offered financial support.
Suddenly the husband who had thrown me out because I could not give him one son was deeply concerned about my health.
My attorney advised me to document everything.
So I did.
Every letter.
Every call.
Every visit.
Mrs. Porter and Elena provided statements describing the morning Caleb expelled me.
The county clerk confirmed receipt of my certified statement.
Then the fertility clinic sent another letter.
Their internal investigation had uncovered missing documents and unexplained amendments.
An investigator wanted to speak with me.
Her name was Diane Mercer.
She arrived carrying two thick folders.
For two hours, she reconstructed the timeline.
My original tests had not justified the certainty of the diagnosis.
Caleb’s tests had raised questions.
He had requested the records.
Some documents later disappeared from the active file.
“Did Caleb alter them?” I asked.
“We have no evidence of that.”
“Did he know the diagnosis wasn’t entirely mine?”
“He had access to information showing that further evaluation of both spouses was recommended.”
Facts.
Not guesses.
They were enough.
Diane gathered her folders.
“There may eventually be a civil issue involving the clinic.”
“What about Caleb?”
“That’s between you, your attorney, and the court.”
Before leaving, she looked at my enormous belly.
“You’ve documented your situation unusually well.”
“I learned late.”
She shook her head.
“You learned in time.”
I did not understand what she meant.
Not yet.
Winter came early.
The doctors became increasingly worried about how long my body could sustain the pregnancy.
An emergency plan was created.
Then one night, a violent storm rolled over Luke’s ranch.
Rain turned the road into mud.
The telephone failed.
The power flickered.
At 8:43 p.m., the first contraction came.
Luke saw my face.
“Sarah?”
Another contraction hit.
I gripped the bedframe.
“I think they’re coming.”
Outside, thunder shook the windows.
Inside, ten babies had chosen the worst possible night to enter the world.
May you like
And by midnight, the first newborn cry rose above the storm.
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