A few days.
Carter's assumption could not have been further from the truth. Six weeks had ticked by, and I found myself still cooped up in my bedroom. I had left the room, of course, to talk a leisurely stroll down the corridors. That had been the extent of my journeys. If I hadn’t been pregnant and injured, would it have been any different? My bruises had healed, and the throbbing in my head had subsided. My life practically consisted of bouncing my wooden ball against the roof so it rebounded back into my hands, or the rare conversation with a visiting Ella or Anne.
The ball trapped itself in my hands before I sighed, letting my palm drift to my growing stomach. Ten weeks, two and a half months, seventy days; however you wanted to say it, that's how far along I was; almost a third of t
