RAVENNA
It started with a craving so intense, I thought my baby was trying to claw its way out to find it himself.
Pickled peaches.
Not regular peaches.
Pickled.
The kind only one store in the entire district carried, and they always stashed them on the very top shelf, like some twisted test of character for short people and pregnant women.
I rubbed my swollen belly as I waddled through the crowded market district dodging pushcarts and unruly children with the finesse of someone who really, really wanted vinegar soaked fruit. My back ached, my ankles felt like fat sausages, my feet had long stopped cooperating, but I was determined.
"Hang in there, little one", I whispered. "Mama's got her eyes on the prize."
The store was just ahead, nestled between a bakery and a shop that so
