Chapter 10:Alice Benette
1322 Words
I should be heading down to dinner right now. I know that.
I can hear the music coming from the barn even from my cabin — the muffled sound of guitars, laughter, conversations. The night is cold but lively. The kind of thing that, at any other moment in my life, I would love to join.
But all I have to do is tilt my head slightly for the nausea to return with full force, spinning inside me as if it were trying to turn my stomach inside out. I close my eyes and take a slow breath, trying not to think about the smell of food that’s probably already spreading through the air down there. My head throbs.
“This is not going to work tonight,” I mumble to myself, burying my face into the pillow.
Ever since I found out I was pregnant, I thought I’d handle this part easily — like it was just one more challenge in my endless list of things I face without planning. But some days… some days the body simply betrays me. Like now. And the only thing I can do is accept it.
The nausea comes in short, violent waves. My mouth feels dry. My skin cold. I try standing up once or twice, but every attempt sends me back to the bed, breathing slowly, trying to find some fixed point to stare at so I won’t throw up.
Eventually, I give up on going to dinner.
“I’ll make up for it tomorrow,” I tell myself, though the room is empty.
The distant laughter drifts in again. A part of me feels jealous of the energy down there. Another part only wants quiet.
I’m almost falling asleep when someone knocks on the door.
Three quick, firm taps. I recognize it immediately.
“Alice?” Rosa’s voice comes through the wood. “Can I come in, my dear?”
My heart softens. Rosa always has this effect on me, as if it’s impossible to ignore her presence.
“You can!” I call, sitting up a little.
She steps inside, wearing a colorful shawl draped around her shoulders, as always. Her eyes scan the cabin before settling on me. She doesn’t need to ask a thing — one look is enough.
“You look terrible,” she declares with the blunt honesty only grandmothers possess.
I let out a weak laugh.
“Nausea,” I admit, rubbing my forehead. “Thought it would get better, but it only got worse. So I stayed here.”
Rosa closes the door softly, as if afraid of waking something sleeping outside. Then she approaches, pulls the armchair closer to the bed, and sits down.
“Are you getting sick a lot?” she asks, tilting her head, her warm eyes resting on me as if they could somehow help.
“Today more than usual,” I confess. “Tried getting up three times, but—”
She shakes her head knowingly.
“Pregnancy is like that. The body doesn’t know what it wants in the beginning. Have you tried eating something light before getting up? A cracker, a small piece of bread?”
“No…” I admit. “I wake up nauseous, Rosa. It feels like eating anything will make it worse.”
She reaches out and takes my hand, firm and gentle at the same time.
“Which is exactly why you need something in your stomach. An empty belly makes the nausea worse.” She studies me. “Are you drinking enough water?”
I shrug.
“I try… but even water makes me nauseous sometimes.”
“Then we’ll fix that with tea,” she says instantly, as if all the universe’s problems could be solved with simple ingredients.
Despite everything, I smile.
“I’ll make that for you once I leave,” she adds, patting my arm. “But tell me… is everything okay besides the nausea?”
I look away.
I knew this question was coming. Rosa notices more than she says — and says more than anyone notices. It’s impossible to hide certain things from her.
“It is,” I lie, poorly.
She gives me the classic “don’t even try that with me” look — the same she’s given Marco dozens of times. I surrender.
“It’s just… a lot,” I say quietly. “And I’m handling it alone.”
Rosa’s brows knit together.
“Alone how, my daughter? The baby’s father… he…?”
The knot in my throat rises so fast I almost choke on it.
“He doesn’t want to know,” I say plainly, the truth landing between us with no soft edges. “I told him. He made it very clear he didn’t want to be part of any of this.”
Rosa’s eyes darken — not with judgment, but with a fierce, maternal indignation.
“A man who turns his back on a child doesn’t deserve to be called a father,” she says, firm as stone. “And you don’t deserve to carry this alone.”
I swallow hard, emotions gathering faster than I can hide them.
“But I will. There’s no other way.”
She squeezes my hand more tightly.
“You’re not alone. At least not here.” She takes a slow breath, choosing her words. “And don’t let his attitude make you feel guilty. Sometimes life brings people into our path who aren’t meant to walk it with us. They just show us how strong we are when we keep going anyway.”
My chest tightens. I knew this, somehow, but hearing someone say it out loud… feels different.
“Thank you, Rosa,” I whisper, my voice trembling.
She smiles with pure tenderness and strokes my hair, the way someone consoles a child.
“You have a good heart, Alice. And you’ll be a wonderful mother. You just need to take care of yourself right now.”
I breathe deeply, trying to hold on to every word.
Rosa stands, adjusting her shawl.
“I’ll go get you a plate of dinner. Nothing with a strong smell, of course.” She wrinkles her nose. “And I’ll make a ginger and lemon tea. Works wonders for nausea.”
“You don’t have to,” I say automatically.
She raises an eyebrow.
“Oh, yes, I do. Unless you want me to sit here watching you suffer.”
I lift my hands in surrender.
“Okay, okay. You win.”
“I always win,” she says proudly. “Now go take a warm shower, relax those muscles, and then lie down. Don’t get up too fast. And prop two pillows behind your back. Sometimes it helps with the nausea.”
I smile.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Rosa looks at me again, but this time her eyes shine with something else — a fierce, protective tenderness that asks for no permission.
“I’m taking care of you tonight. And that’s final.”
And for some reason, that sentence moves me in a way I wasn’t prepared for — as if no one has said anything like that to me in years.
She walks toward the door, but before stepping out, she adds without turning around:
“If the baby’s father doesn’t want to know, that’s his loss. We do.”
My heart twists.
When the door closes, the silence returns… but not the same as before. Now it feels lighter, warmer. The cabin doesn’t feel as lonely.
I slowly get up and follow her instructions. I head to the bathroom, letting the warm light and steam wrap around me. And for the first time today, I feel something settle inside me.
Maybe it’s the shower.
Maybe it’s the pregnancy finally finding a safe place.
Maybe it’s Rosa.
Or maybe… it’s the feeling that even though I’m lost, I’m not completely alone.
Not anymore.
- Writer
