Everything is wrong.
I’ve been a nervous wreck since last month. Carina is now seven months along—clearly a witch pregnancy rather than the shifter one I’ve secretly been hoping for—but she’s huge. Her stomach dwarfs her body and I’ve taken to remaining pressed against the wall to give her maximum space in bed. Marissa thinks she can give birth any time now, viewing her pregnancy as possibly mixing the two norms.
Hence the relentless stress.
Carina is in endless pain and discomfort. I barely sleep, resulting in heavy bags under my eyes, a constant feeling of death, and napping on patrol more than once.
Carina calls the pains Braxton Hicks, but I refer to them as Ryder’s Hell because the mini contractions have me thinking she’ll give birth, only to determine they’re false hope.
“Part o
