Juniper POV
The nausea never really left anymore. It simply changed symptoms.
Some mornings it was a slow, greasy roll in my stomach that made me breathe through my mouth while Maya’s ancient coffee maker gurgled. Other days it was sudden and violent, sending me scrambling for the bathroom before my eyes were even fully open. I kept ginger chews in every pocket, in the console of my car, in the little ceramic bowl on Maya’s kitchen counter like pathetic pastel landmines.
I hated how much I was starting to love the sickness.
Because it was proof.
My body was doing exactly what it was supposed to do. Growing something real. Something that couldn’t be ignored or abandoned the way its father seemed determined to abandon me.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in Maya’s guest room—
