Heartache
Jaquie spent the night praying to the porcelain god, Dave patiently holding her hair. No one warned you about night sickness because some genius named it morning sickness. After surviving the day unscathed, she didn’t expect to be sideswiped by spaghetti and garlic bread. At least, that’s what she told Dave. Stupid lies. Even she believed them. She ran her hand along the tile marks engraved across her cheeks, desperate to ignore the putrid stench of vomit, and the sourness…
