I felt that something was wrong before anyone else noticed. My daughter, Hailey, had been complaining for weeks about nausea, sharp stomach pains, dizziness, and complete exhaustion. It didn’t match her energetic nature—the girl who loved soccer,
photography, and laughing with her friends late into the night. Now she was almost silent. She wore a hoodie even at home and flinched at every question about how she felt.My husband, Mark, dismissed everything. “She’s faking it,” he said coldly. “Teenagers love drama.
Doctors are a waste of time and money.” His tone cut off any attempt at discussion.But I watched. Hailey ate less and less, slept more and more. She grimaced tying her shoes. She was losing weight, and the sparkle in her eyes was fading.
I felt as if something inside her was breaking, and I stood helpless—watching my child slowly disappear.One night, when Mark was already asleep, I found her curled up on the mattress, holding her stomach, her pillow wet with tears.
“Mom,” she whispered, “it hurts… please, let it stop.”In that moment, all doubts vanished.The next day, while Mark was at work, I took her to St. Helena Medical Center. On the way, Hailey barely spoke, staring out the window with a hollow, terrified look.
The nurse checked her vitals, and the doctor ordered blood tests and an ultrasound. I squeezed her hands until they trembled.When the office door finally opened, Dr. Adler entered slowly, with a serious expression and a folder that seemed to weigh a ton.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said quietly, “we need to talk.”Hailey was trembling beside me on the exam table.“The tests show… that there is something inside her,” he added, lowering his voice.I froze.“Inside her?” I repeated, unsure if I had heard correctly.
The doctor hesitated—a pause that said everything.My chest tightened. The world spun. My fingers went numb.“What… is it?” I whispered.“We need to speak privately. Please be prepared,” he said cautiously.