“She’s overreacting,” he said the first time I mentioned seeing a doctor, eyes fixed on his laptop. “Teenagers absorb symptoms online. It’s stress. Hormones. Don’t turn it into drama.”

The second time, he sighed as if I’d presented an unsolvable problem. “Hospitals cost a fortune. She just wants an excuse to stay home.”

The third time, when Maya woke up at two in the morning shaking and gagging, he snapped, “Stop feeding into it. She’ll grow out of it.”

Those words settled in my chest and stayed there, sharp and heavy.

I tried the gentle approach. I asked Maya about school pressure, friendships, anxiety. Each time she shook her head, eyes dulled by pain rather than tears.

“It feels like something’s pulling,” she whispered one night. “Like everything inside me is twisted.”