There’s no alarm to wake her this morning; she basks in the luxury of a slow rise. Propped up on pillows, hips sore from the doctor’s instructions to limit time on her back, she loses herself in a novel. The sentences transport her to another time – Texas, 1937. When the chapter ends, it’s like coming up for air. She loves when stories doe that. Has read enough to know not to take that feeling for granted.
A flutter pounds at her belly beneath her navel. She smiles as she swings her legs over the bed. Yes, she is hungry too.