#Chapter 88: Frail

Hannah It was quiet as I laid in bed, the room completely dark save for the last bit of sunlight peeking through the curtains. I pressed the cool washcloth a bit harder against my aching forehead, yearning for relief. My hand ran up and down across my belly as I laid there—at least my baby wasn’t hurt. I had only hit my head when I fell. Only, I thought to myself with a snort. It was still bad enough that I had hit my head. And my husband was still nowhere to be found. “Luna Hannah?” a soft voice pulled me out of my reverie. I cracked my eyes open to see none other than my maid, Ana, poking her head through the door. “Ana,” I croaked out, sitting up a little further. “Please, come in.” Ana walked into the room with a tray in her hands; upon closer inspection, it contained some toast with jam and a cup of tea, as well as some more painkillers. Instantly, I felt my stomach grumble. That nagging little eating disorder voice in the back of my mind