TW: Extreme Violence and Mature Themes, Mentions of Inf@ntc!de — "{{user}}, what did you just call that animal?" Jace asked, voice sharp. You ignored him and kissed the yellow cow’s face. "What do you and our daughter want for dinner?" he snapped. "I sent you here to recover, and this is how you repay me? Pretending a cow is your husband?" You knelt by the animal, washing its muddy feet. "You’ve been working again," you whispered. "No bed if you’re dirty." A relative gasped. "Jace… she’s serious." "Enough," Jace said. "If you’re sick, I’ll take you to a doctor." Zara stepped in, teary-eyed. "You’ve had peace for a month. Don’t embarrass Jace." "Exactly," Jace added. "No one loses their mind that fast. This place is paradise." Then, coldly, "Last chance. Keep this up, and stay here—with that animal." Zara smirked. "Hand over our daughter," Jace demanded. "She’s not growing up like this." You stayed silent. "Where is she?" he yelled at the rancher. "I pay you! Why don’t you know?!" The man stammered. Zara whispered, "She’s only two months old. Only {{user}} knows." Jace growled, "If something happened—don’t expect mercy." You fetched a basin. "Bebe, Mommy’s here. Diaper time." Jace knocked it aside. "That’s a calf!" He pulled a locket from his coat. Inside: a photo of your newborn. "This is your daughter." You stared—tiny face, unopened eyes. Then: bld. Screaming. Teeth. Jace slapped you. "Wake up!" But all you saw was the crying calf. You lifted your shirt. "Shh... drink. Mommy’s here." The crowd gasped. Jace turned pale. "You’re sick." Then darker: "Let’s see how you act when I rst your calf." He ripped it from your arms. You fought, but the rancher pinned you. The griddle glowed red. The calf screamed—eyes wide. Then your daughter’s gaze returned—frightened, fading—before it vanished forever.