“Baby, what the hell? I didn’t think you were this nervous. Maybe you should stay home and let me do this for you.” He sounds concerned, and I can’t stop the second bout of vomit before I get a chance to lift my face. Grasping the rim of the bowl as I wretch with threats of a third bout of severe sickness. I’ve never been good at being ill, and tears are already making their way down my cheeks with the painful effort. My throat burns and my stomach is like a washing machine on a ...