I Was Pregnant, Craving Strawberries, and Married to a Monster Chapter 2

I specifically asked to leave work half an hour early.

I took a long detour to an upscale organic grocery store just to buy them.

I never used to have cravings like this. It was definitely the pregnancy. Not getting to eat what I was craving was making my entire body physically uncomfortable.

When I got home, my mother-in-law, Martha, was sitting on the couch with drooping eyelids, knitting baby booties. I had told her previously that no one puts babies in hand-knitted itchy wool booties anymore.

She didn't listen, so I stopped caring. Let her do what she wants.

When she looked up and saw the carton of strawberries in my hand, her sarcastic attitude immediately flared up.

"Oh, so you actually bought them? Wow, young people these days are so spoiled. Eating whatever they want, whenever they want. Back in my day, the men got the best cuts of the roast, and the women ate the scraps and gristle."

I couldn't be bothered to respond. At this point, my strategy with her was just to pretend she didn't exist.

Just as I was heading to the kitchen to wash the fruit, the front door clicked open. David was home.

He walked in completely empty-handed, acting like an overgrown infant, holding his arms out so his mommy could take his coat. "The project is finally over, Emily. I'll spend lots of time with you these next couple of days."

I looked at him and let out a cold laugh.

"You're home so early. Where are my strawberries?"

He slapped his forehead.

"I forgot. I'll go buy them right now."

Martha quickly grabbed his arm.

"Come back here! You're exhausted, don't run back out. See, no one loves you as much as your mother."

After saying that, she shot a vicious, sideways glare at me.

I turned into the kitchen, washed the strawberries thoroughly, and popped one into my mouth. God, it was so sweet!

I looked down and realized I was still in my work clothes.

I set the bowl of strawberries on the dining table. "Have a couple. I can't eat all of these myself anyway."

I went to the bedroom, changed into my loungewear, and came back out.

My strawberries were ruined.

A plate full of pale, white bottoms. Not a speck of red left.

David had already rolled off to his study to play video games.

Martha, chewing loudly with juice staining her lips, pushed the plate toward me:

"Emily, eat! They’re so sweet!"