Chapter 9
Wave after wave of unrest churned in her stomach, tumultuous as a mountain collapsing.
She leaned over the edge of the restroom sink, dry heaving for a long time, bringing up only some stomach acid.
Lydia Mitchell followed her in and handed her a clean handkerchief, "Don't like the taste of chicken soup? Then I'll tell the chef to stop making it. What do you want to eat? Tell me, and I'll prepare it for you. Do you want something sour or spicy?"
Sofia Hamilton didn't know which question to answer from the barrage her mother-in-law had asked.
However, speaking of eating.
She did, quite suddenly, feel like eating something sour.
The feeling was strange.
It was as if another voice was telling her what she wanted to eat...
"I feel like eating something sour. The taste of chicken soup is a little too greasy," she said.
