CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN: Physical and Emotional Wounds

The morning sun streams through the lace curtains, casting delicate patterns on the wooden floor. I trudge back on my bed, my forehead creases with worry, as I hold my phone in a trembling hand.

"Mama," I say, my voice weak and raspy. "I... I can't go meet the supervisor. I'm not feeling well, plus I’m not interested in publishing my book."

"Alright, darling," mama says gently. Though I’m not looking at her face, the excitement in her voice is gone, and its worry returns. "I'll take care of it. You just focus on resting. I’ll call for a doctor now."

As the door creaks close and mama’s footsteps fade, I let out a shaky breath, sinking back onto my pillows. I close my eyes, trying to block out the swirling thoughts in my mind. If only my book is just a book—a simple collection of words on a page. But it isn't. It’s so much more complicated than that. Plus, publishing a book isn’t even something I should even think about or give the slightest attention to at this moment.

The minute