By the time Mara Ellison reached the grocery store, the day had already taken everything she had.
The sky outside was the color of old aluminum—bright enough to glare, flat enough to feel heavy—and the parking lot shimmered like it was cooking. Mara sat for a moment in the driver’s seat of her ten-year-old sedan with both hands on the steering wheel, breathing through a dull ache that wrapped around her lower back and tightened every time the baby shifted.
Generated image
Seven months pregnant wasn’t the kind of pregnant that looked pretty in the movies. It wasn’t glowing. It was swollen ankles and heartburn that came out of nowhere, it was waking up at three a.m. because her hip felt like it had slipped out of place, it was being out of breath from walking too fast down a hallway.
