Mara woke to the sound of her own breath—a thin, whistling rasp that made her feel like a kettle left too long on the stove. She lay on her left side, the way the books said to, a pillow between her knees and another propping up her head. Still, her nose was a locked door.
Outside, the January wind rattled the windowpane. Inside, Mara’s body had become a foreign country—swollen feet, a pelvis that cracked when she turned, and now this: a stuffiness so absolute it felt like betrayal. Her husband, Leo, slept peacefully beside her, one arm flung over his eyes. She envied the easy rise and fall of his chest. stuffiness during pregnancy
“You’re in there with plenty of room,” she whispered. “Lucky you.” Mara woke to the sound of her own