Page 64 of Daddy Erik
It’s another woman I’ve only seen in glimpses before, older, with iron-gray hair coiled into a bun, lines at the corners of her eyes that look like they were carved there by years of frowning.
She carries a tablet and a small vial.
“Hello, Claire,” she says in a low, measured voice. “I’m Senior Tech Devereux. I oversee long-term protocol compliance.”
Long-term.My skin crawls. She checks the pump readings, nods once, then sets the tablet aside and looks at me properly.
“You are performing beyond projections,” she says. “Your fourth-week yield is more than four times your baseline upon arrival.”
I feel sick. “You’re… draining me.”
She lifts a shoulder in a faint shrug. “You’re producing, and we are collecting. That’s the agreement.”
“I never agreed!”
“You were selected,” she corrects mildly. “You should take pride in that. There are women who would give anything to be chosen for a program like this.”
I want to ask who. I want to ask why. I want to ask how broken someone has to be to think this is a privilege.
But my voice comes out as shaky as it has been for a few weeks now. “I want to go home.”
She regards me for a long moment, something like pity or annoyance crossing her face.
“Home is not medically optimal,” she says finally. “Here, you will fulfill your potential.”
The words are so absurd, and monstrous, I almost laugh. Instead, my eyes fill with tears.
She doesn’t look away. “Phase Two starts very soon,” she says. “The medications you’ve been receiving this week are preparing your endocrine system for implantation response.”
Implantation.The word lands like ice in my veins. “You mean… pregnancy,” I manage.
“Eventually,” she says. “After auction. After placement. Our job is to make you ready. Plump. Stable. Highly productive. A premium breeding candidate.”
The word hits harder this time.Breeding.I feel like the floor has dropped away, except there is no floor. Just straps and suction and the relentless pull of the pump.
“Why are you telling me this?” I whisper.
“Because you asked,” she says calmly. “And I believe in an informed process.”
Informed process.Not informed consent. She picks up the tablet again.
“For now,” she says, “continue to comply. Eat all your shakes. Finish your sedative bottles. Rest when told. The healthier you are, the higher your value, and the better your conditions will be post-auction.”
Post-auction.“Who buys people like this?” The words fall out before I can stop them. “What kind of monsters…?”
“The kind of people who see what you are and what you can do,” she replies softly. “They are not monsters.”
I think of Erik. I remember how he looked at me when the first drop of colostrum appeared. He gazed at me with reverence and awe, his hands not taking but asking. He saw what I could do and what I was becoming, and he loved me like I was his most precious gift, given to him.
These people see me as a commodity and desire to use me until they don’t need me anymore. Then what? I’ll be discarded?
Devereux glances at the clock. “Night rounds will be here soon,” she says. “I’ll update Dr. Rhys personally. He’ll be very pleased with your progress.”
“I hope he chokes on it,” I whisper.
She doesn’t even flinch. “Rest well, little cow,” she says instead. “Phase Two is very demanding. You’ll need your strength.”
She leaves without looking back. The door seals with a soft hiss. I stare at the ceiling until my eyes blur, the pump collecting a part of me with every heartbeat. By the time the nighttime bottle comes, I’m shaking with a fear so deep it feels like it’s rewiring my bones.
