The hospital’s fluorescent lights flickered above Kimberly as she lay on the examination table, her vision blurred and her body weak. Nurses bustled around her, whispering in tones that carried a mix of concern and disbelief. Dr. Reynolds, a kind-eyed woman with decades of experience, approached Kimberly with a gentle yet firm demeanor.
“Kimberly, can you tell me when you last had a meal?” she asked, her voice measured, trying not to startle the fragile girl before her.
Kimberly hesitated, her gaze shifting to the ceiling as if the answer might be written there. “I… I don’t remember,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. The confession hung in the air, heavier than any of the whispers surrounding her.
