Evelyn Carter's POVI rented a run-down cabin outside Blackpine under a fake name.My landlady, Mabel Greene, assumed I was a single pregnant woman fleeing domestic violence. She never asked about the baby's father. Before every blizzard, she'd leave bread, milk, and old blankets at my door.I didn't dare go to a hospital.During the day, I studied normal pregnancy guides at the town library. At night, I used a secondhand fetal monitor to record the sounds from my belly. Six heartbeats, all different. The smallest one was always the slowest. I assigned them numbers and logged my temperature, food intake, and any unusual reactions every day.Five months into the pregnancy, my body started to change.A cut from slicing vegetables would heal in minutes. I could lift a crate of firewood that used to take two people, and I began craving raw meat with a ferocity that scared me. Once, I stared at a steak on the cutting board for too long. When I snapped out of it, my teeth were already buried
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