Pregnant And Rejected Mate
Eight months.
More than eight months of waking up every morning in a tiny apartment above a bakery and convincing myself that life hurt a little less than it did the day before.
Most days, it actually did.
Millhaven slowly became familiar to me in the quietest ways.
The bakery downstairs opened before sunrise, filling the building with the warm scent of fresh bread every morning. The diner opened at six sharp. The library on Main Street locked its doors every evening at exactly five, and Mrs. Okafor, the librarian, always carried a sunflower bookmark inside whichever romance novel she was currently reading.