Chapter 2The Unborn Prophet & My Doomsday Fort

Back home, looking at the multi-million dollar imported lawn and the collection of rare, exotic flowers, my heart bled.

None of this could be eaten or used to fend off zombies.

"Get the groundskeeper. I want all of this dug up," I ordered.

The butler, who was trimming a hedge, nearly snipped his own finger off.

"Ma'am, but Mr. Hayes had these tulips specially flown in from the Netherlands…"

"Dig it up!" I tossed my Hermès bag onto the grass. "Who's the lady of the house, you or me? I've decided I don't like flowers. I have a pollen allergy. Is that a good enough reason?"

The butler looked at me like I’d lost my mind, but he still called the gardeners to start working.

Watching those vibrant, perfect blossoms being ripped out by the roots, I had only one thought: potatoes.

I had to plant potatoes.

High yield, and they fill you up.

The commander in my belly was back online.

Mom! These floor-to-ceiling windows are a disaster! They’re way too fragile! A single zombie could crash right through them! We might as well just open the front door and invite them in for a buffet!

I looked up at the massive panoramic windows. I used to think they were so open and elegant. Now, I saw them for what they were: death traps.

"Replace them! All of them! With bulletproof glass! And add reinforced steel shutters!"

I immediately contacted the best security firm in the city.

When they heard my request, they must have thought I was turning my home into a private Fort Knox.

"Mrs. Hayes, this level of security is typically for…"

"I have anxiety. I'm afraid of burglars. Is that a problem? Money is no object, but I have one condition: I need it done in three days."

The moment they heard "money is no object," they shut up and had a construction crew on-site that same night.

Jessica showed up with a few of her little socialite friends to laugh at me.

They stood outside the gate, looking at the muddy pits in my yard and the half-constructed greenhouse, howling with laughter.

"Oh my god, Michelle, have you gone completely insane? You're farming in the garden of a hundred-million-dollar mansion?"

"Did Liam finally decide to divorce you? Are you planning for your future as a farmer?"

"This isn't a mansion anymore, it's a pigsty!"

I was turning over soil with a shovel. Hearing that, I plunged the shovel into the ground.

I scooped up a clump of fertilizer-rich mud and flung it straight at them.

"Ah! My dress!" Jessica shrieked, jumping back, but she was still splattered with muddy specks.

"Private property. Get lost!" I brandished the shovel like a she-wolf protecting her den.

Jessica's face turned green with rage. "Just you wait, Michelle! When my cousin gets home and sees what you've done to his house, he'll throw you out for sure!"

When Liam came home that evening, he was, in fact, stunned.

I'd had the original biometric lock on the front gate smashed and replaced with an old-fashioned, hundred-pound mechanical deadbolt.

The yard was a mess of trenches, and the living room was piled high with freeze-dried meals and cases of instant hot pots I'd bought online.

There was barely any room to walk.

He stood in front of the Persian rug, which was now buried under boxes of compressed biscuits, his expression darkening.

"Michelle, what is all this?"

I rushed over, pulled him into the bedroom, and shut the door with a conspiratorial air.

"Honey, I have something huge to tell you. The world is ending."

Liam looked at me, his expression unreadable.

He reached out and felt my forehead. It wasn't hot.

"Who told you this?"

"Our son," I said, pointing to my stomach.

Liam sighed, taking my hand in his. "Michelle, have you been under too much stress lately? How about I take you to see a therapist tomorrow?"

He didn't believe me.

To be fair, the old me wouldn't have believed it either.

Sigh. I knew Dad, the hardcore materialist, wouldn't buy it. Never mind, Mom. As long as he doesn't get in our way, we can do this ourselves!

I nodded, looking at Liam. "Honey, just… just pretend I have prenatal anxiety. Doing all this makes me feel safe. Can you just let me be?"

Liam looked at me, then at the chaos that had consumed our home, and finally gave a weary nod.

"Fine. As long as you don't tear the roof off, do what you want."

With that, he turned and walked to the balcony to call a renowned psychologist.

"Hello, Dr. Evans? My wife has been extremely anxious lately. She's saying the world is about to end… Yes, that's right. I was wondering how I can best support her treatment… Go along with her? Okay, I understand."