Seventeen and pregnant everything made her sick. The smell of food, the taste of food, the mere thought of food made her vomit. Mornings were the worst. She would dress for school and then the nausea would hit. She vomited until spasms wracked her body from the dry heaves. Soaked with sweat she would return to bed. She missed the bus so many times that she gave up during the Christmas break and didn’t try when school restarted in January.
Her new husband assured her it would be okay. He promised he would care for her, look after her and love her. He was amazed that one so delicate and beautiful was his wife. He hated that she was sick so much but his mother told him it was normal.
Every morning before he left for work he would bend over to kiss her goodbye. The pink softness of her sleeping lips was like nectar to him and he would fight the urge to draw her to him, to feel her growing breasts on his chest, to slide his hand under the sheet and feel the little bulge of life they had created.
He went to work eagerly; thinking of the beautiful woman who shared his bed, wanting to provide for her and the family they were creating. He worked long hours and arrived home just as eager to kiss her lips again.
Their lovemaking was a little awkward. She had been a virgin when she first came to him and she had never explored her body. He had been with enough women to know each one had a different trigger. He was enjoying learning her body and teaching her the things that gave her pleasure. Her pleasure was his pleasure.
He was certain he was in love.
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