At the time, Wendy was just a spoiled four-year-old. She was starving, and aside from the cold food on her bedside table, there was nothing else for her to eat. She couldn’t hold out any longer and, between sobs and curses, she forced herself to eat.The food tasted nothing like the delicious meals she used to enjoy. Each bite felt like chewing on wax, bland and tasteless, making it difficult to swallow.During that period, Wendy lost weight rapidly. Her once fair and chubby face became gaunt and pale, her skin taking on a sickly yellow hue. Her once shiny hair had turned dry and brittle, resembling straw.Her injuries made it impossible for her to leave the bed and go to the bathroom, so she had no choice but to relieve herself in bed. The maids, tired of her tantrums, only cleaned up half-heartedly, leaving her room to reek of filth. In her words, she felt like trash thrown into a dump, left to rot.Years later, when she recounted this experience to me in a calm voice, all I co
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