“She’s exaggerating,” he said one evening, not even looking up from his phone. “Teenagers do that. Don’t waste time or money on doctors.”
He said it with authority. With finality.
And for a while, I let his certainty drown out my fear.
The Quiet Changes That Wouldn’t Go Away
Weeks passed. Maya’s face lost its color. Her clothes hung looser on her frame. She stopped asking to hang out with friends and stopped caring about school projects she once loved.
I watched her push food around her plate and claim she wasn’t hungry. I watched her flinch when she bent to tie her shoes. I watched her retreat further into herself, like a door slowly closing.
What scared me most wasn’t the physical pain.
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