Melody took a bite out of the bran muffin and a frown flickered across her forehead.
Sometimes things she liked tasted worse than dirt. Although, chicken is totally out of the question. Nothing could separate her from the love of chicken.
But baked pastries were beginning to get on her nerves. She sighed heavily and rubbed her baby bump. She glanced out from the ceiling to floor sliding windows. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen the sun out.
Winter clouds daubed the land in colors of brown and gray. Making as early as seven in the morning look like six thirty in the evening.
She rubbed her tummy again. She didn't feel like wearing a shirt today. A heating spell had already been put into action constantly in the room.
Entering her thirteenth week, there were times when Melody was scared. Her mother had abandoned her at a tender age and the accumulation of resentment towards her had driven away the memories of what a real mother was like.
