We sat at the dining table, the one we’d bought together for our first anniversary. The air was thick with a forced pleasantry. Jared was almost manic in his cheerfulness, pouring me a glass of wine with a slightly trembling hand.

“To us,” he’d toasted, raising his own glass. “To a new beginning.”

I should have known. The potatoes tasted… off. A bitter, metallic undertone I couldn’t quite place. I saw Eli make a small face but, eager to please his father, he kept eating. I took only a few bites myself, my appetite suddenly gone.

“You’re not eating, Naomi,” Jared had said, his voice a little too sharp. “Is something wrong?”

“Just not very hungry, I guess,” I’d murmured, pushing the food around my plate.

Then the first wave hit. A dizzying, nauseating tilt of the room, as if the floor had dropped out from under me.