PART 1 – My Daughter Kept Saying She Was Sick — Everyone Said She Was Just Being Dramatic
I noticed something was wrong with my daughter long before anyone else did.
Maya was fifteen years old, full of energy, always laughing, always moving. She used to come home from school and drop her backpack in the hallway, kick off her shoes, and head straight to the kitchen asking what was for dinner. She played soccer twice a week. She talked nonstop about her friends, her teachers, her plans.
Then… she changed.
At first, it was small things.
- She skipped meals.
- She slept more.
- She stopped listening to music in her room.
I told myself it was just teenage mood swings.
But then she started holding her stomach.
Not dramatically.
Not for attention.
Quietly.
Like she didn’t want anyone to notice.
One evening, while washing dishes, I saw her lean against the counter, her face pale, her lips dry.
“Mom,” she whispered, “I feel dizzy.”
I touched her forehead. It was cold.
“Did you eat today?”
She shook her head.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
That night, she barely touched her dinner. She pushed the food around her plate like it offended her.
My husband Robert didn’t even look up from his phone.
“She’s fine,” he said.
“She just wants attention.”
I felt a strange heaviness in my chest.
Maya started wearing oversized sweaters, even when it was warm inside the house.
Her clothes looked too big on her now.
Her cheeks lost their color.
I would find her sitting on her bed, staring at the wall.
“What’s wrong?” I asked her.
“Nothing,” she said quickly.
Too quickly.
One morning, she almost fainted while brushing her teeth.
I caught her just in time.
“Mom… my stomach hurts again,” she said, pressing her hand against her side.
I wanted to take her to the doctor that day.
Robert stopped me.
“Stop overreacting,” he said.
“Doctors cost money. She’s just stressed from school.”
I listened.
I regret that more than anything.
Days passed.
Then weeks.
Maya stopped going to soccer practice.
She stopped seeing her friends.
She stopped smiling.
One night, I woke up because I heard crying.
Not loud crying.
The kind that tries to stay silent.
I walked to her room and opened the door slowly.
She was curled up on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, shaking.
“Maya?” I whispered.
She looked up at me, her eyes full of fear.
“Mom… it hurts so bad.”
I held her in my arms.
Her body felt too light.
Too fragile.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
“I didn’t want to make Dad mad,” she whispered.
Something inside me broke.
The next morning, Robert went to work like nothing was wrong.
I waited until his car left the driveway.
Then I went into Maya’s room.
“Get dressed,” I said softly.
“We’re going to the hospital.”
She didn’t argue.
She didn’t even ask why.
She just stood up slowly.
Walking hurt her.
In the car, she stared out the window.
“Mom… am I going to be okay?”
I didn’t know the answer.
“I’m here,” I said.
“That’s all that matters right now.”
The hospital smelled like disinfectant and coffee.
They took her blood.
They took her for scans.
They made her lie still under bright machines.
I sat in the waiting room, staring at the wall.
Every minute felt like an hour.
When the doctor came out, his face was serious.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” he said, “we need to talk.”
My heart dropped into my stomach.
“Maya’s tests show something abnormal,” he said carefully.
“We need more exams.”
“What does that mean?” I asked.
“It means she’s been in pain for a reason.”
I felt dizzy.
I thought about every time she said she hurt.
Every time she said she felt sick.
Every time I believed she was exaggerating.
The doctor looked at me and said:
“You did the right thing bringing her in today.”
I almost cried right there in the hallway.
But I didn’t know yet…
That the next words would change our lives forever.