She lay in bed, staring at the same white ceiling she had gazed at in simpler times. The walls of her childhood room closed in around her; it had always been a cocoon of both comfort and confinement. A familiar wave of nausea surged. She turned her head over the edge of the bed, retching into the garbage can. Nothing came up but air, dry heaves shaking her fragile frame.

She had lost track of the last full meal she had. All she could taste now was the rare sip of water, a bite of an apple, or the worst—bile.

With trembling hands, she propped herself back on the bed, savoring the brief reprieve from the relentless nausea. Minutes passed, and the dizziness crept back in, her stomach churning. With nothing to do and nowhere to go, she shifted restlessly, seeking any position that might bring a moment’s relief.

“What did I do to deserve this?” she wondered, the thought creeping through the fog of her mind. Memories and regrets swirled together, and a shadow of Catholic guilt hovered over her like a storm cloud. “What are you trying to teach me?” she silently pleaded, seeking answers in the stillness of her room.