"You are not getting out of that bed even if the barn catches fire."
Rosa stood in my cabin doorway, arms crossed, with an expression I'd learned to fear. It was the same look she used when Marco tried to escape eating vegetable soup.
"Rosa, I'm not on bed rest. I'm on couch rest. There's a difference."
"There's no difference. Bed, couch, chair, it's all the same: you stationary, me taking care of everything."
"But I could at least—"
"No."
She entered the cabin carrying a tray with a breakfast that looked prepared for an army. Breads, fruits, scrambled eggs, orange juice, and a small vase of flowers from the garden.
"Is this breakfast or a farewell feast?" I asked, eyeing the mountain of food.
"It's nutrition. Babies need nutrition. Now eat."
I grabbed a grape, just to see her smi
