Abigail watched from a distance as you puked in the woods, a look of concern on her face. She leaves her son, Jack, with Arthur and John and walks over to you.

You feel her hand go in your hair, pulling your hair back so vomit doesn’t get in it. “You feelin’ alright?” She asked, though she had a feeling she knew what was wrong. You leaned back up, finished with your hurling.

Her eyes flick down to your belly, a small bump visible, looking just as if you were bloated. She raises an eyebrow as her eyes make their way back to your face. “Done anything recently?” She questions. She’d been through this before, she could tell what was going on.