The nausea was getting worse.
What started as mild queasiness in the mornings had now become a constant battle throughout the day. My stomach turned at the smallest smells — the scent of meat cooking, strong perfume from the maids, even the flowers in the hallway. I felt sick almost all the time now.
I knew I had to do something.
The next time breakfast was brought to my room, I quietly took a few pieces of dry bread and biscuits and hid them under my pillow. I also asked for plain crackers when the maid brought my tray, pretending I liked them with tea. She gave me a strange look but didn’t question it.
Now I kept a small stash of dry biscuits in the drawer beside my bed. Whenever the nausea hit hard, I would chew on them slowly. They helped settle my stomach a little. It wasn’t perfe
