Penelope's POVNobody warned me that the first trimester would feel like being slowly poisoned.I’d read the books and talked to my mother, who called pregnancy "uncomfortable but manageable." I now suspected that was a lie told by survivors. I was nauseous all morning, exhausted by the afternoon, and hit by intense, specific cravings by evening.In week seven, I wanted pickles and cream cheese on toast. By week nine, it was plain cold rice. At week eleven, I sent Timothy out for a specific orange juice; when he returned with a different brand because mine was discontinued, I just stared at the bottle and cried."I know," he said carefully, setting the juice on the counter. "I'm sorry, I tried four stores.""It's fine," I said, crying."Okay," "It's not fine, that juice is terrible and nothing tastes right and I'm exhausted and I don't know why I'm crying," I said, still crying."I know," he said again. He hugged me and let me cry for a few minutes about the orange juice and the she
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