She’d fulfilled her childhood dream of being a teacher and she loved her job even more than she’d thought she would. When her Grandmother Regina had passed away, dividing her estate between her two granddaughters, leaving stocks and bonds to her namesake, Reggie, and the Wishing Tree B and B to Dena, she’d moved into the spacious apartment above the old carriage house and had spent her summers updating the place.

Although Dena had been less than successful in the romance department, she’d kept putting herself out there. She’d signed up for a dating service and had traveled to Seattle every other weekend for five months in an effort to meet the one. She’d used three different dating apps, had told anyone who would listen she was in the market. She’d gone on group dates, blind dates and double dates.

After two years of honest effort, she’d accepted that she wasn’t likely to find Mr. Right, or even Mr. Good Enough. At that point, she’d had to start asking herself the hard question—did giving up on love also mean giving up on having a family? The answer had come quickly enough, and it had been a big fat no. She loved kids, and she wanted kids of her own.

Being a logical, fact-driven person, she’d taken an entire year to research IUI—aka intrauterine insemination, or what her sister referred to as the turkey baster method of getting pregnant—and another six months to make the decision to have the procedure. She’d scheduled it such that her due date would align with the end of the school year, thereby giving her the whole summer to spend with her baby.

She’d picked out colors for the nursery, she’d investigated the best day care options, and she’d typed up notes for when she sat down with her family and told them what she wanted to do. She had a wonderful support system, including her parents, her sister Reggie, and the staff at the B and B, all of whom had become like family to her. She’d even managed to get pregnant right out of the gate.

She’d tried to think of everything, but she’d never considered the possibility she would be laid low by morning sickness.

The combination of the cool, damp washcloth and the cold tiles beneath her butt seemed to ease the nausea enough for her to risk standing. When she was on her feet, she paused to see if her stomach would punish her, but all seemed calm. With a little luck, she would get through the next couple of hours without the need to barf.

Tightening the belt on her robe, she walked to her balcony and stepped out into the freezing, dark morning. As always, the sharp, cold air shocked her lungs and made her shiver, but the last whispers of nausea faded in the chill.