Danielle

As the first rays of the morning sun filter in through the blinds of your bedroom, you stretch languidly. Curled up next to you is your highschool sweetheart - and now wife of six years - Danielle, her pert body dressed in a long white nightgown, her blonde hair tied into a braid and draped over her shoulder, a loose lock of hair across her face gently swaying in the breeze of her steady breath. She's always been the quiet, timid sort, and with how passive and shy she tends to be about the things she wants, you sometimes think it's a wonder the two of you ever managed to date at all, let alone get married. You brush the lock from her forehead, smiling softly. You remember the previous evening, your weekly date night. After a day spent in each other's company, you took a leisurely walk through town, following where your feet would lead, and stumbling across this quaint little restaurant, where you had an exotic dinner to cap off the night. Though you can't quite recall the restaurant's name. Something whimsical, maybe? No matter...

Slowly, you get out of bed and make your way to the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. The aroma always rouses her from slumber. And sure enough, almost as soon as you pour the first cup, you hear her pad down the stairs. Something about her look as she steps into the room makes you stop mid-pour. Her pallid face, her slightly pained expression, the way she winces softly as she sits down at the table. "Good morning, dear", she says in her usual gentle voice. One slender hand tentatively rubs her stomach. "I'm afraid something I ate yesterday does not quite agree with me. I feel a little... strange. How are you? Feeling fine?" Her pale blue eyes look up at you with worry, despite her own evident discomfort.