Days bled into one another in a continuous loop. The hospital visits, the prescriptions, the constant monitoring of her seizures, and the growing sense of helplessness that hung over Alessia like a dark cloud. She had been home for a few weeks, but she couldn't shake the feeling that her life had changed irreparably.

The walls of her room seemed to close in on her with every passing day. Each time she woke up, the reality of her condition was like a slap to the face. It wasn't just the physical toll of the seizures—the bruised body, the lingering exhaustion—it was the emotional weight that threatened to crush her. She was no longer the girl she used to be. The woman who could confidently walk through the world had been replaced by someone who was fragile, broken, and fearful.

The quiet of her room was deafening, especially when her brothers were busy. It wasn't that they didn't care but that they didn't understand. Giovanni had tried his best to help, but she saw the way his eyes would cloud over with helplessness whenever he looked at her. He didn't know what to do, and neither did she. Neither of them knew how to fix this.

Alessia ran a hand through her hair, staring out the window. The world beyond her room was alive with movement—people walking, cars driving, the bustle of the outside world—but she felt disconnected from it all. Everything felt so distant now. Her world had become small, confined to the four walls of this room, the sterile environment of the hospital, and the endless cycle of medication.

She had tried to go outside a few times, but the fear had always gripped her tightly. Each time she stepped into the sunlight, she could feel the panic rising in her chest. The world was too much. Too overwhelming. It felt like she was walking through a fog, as if the air was pressing down on her, suffocating her. Every movement, every sound, felt foreign to her now.

She had tried to tell Giovanni about the panic and explain how trapped she felt, but he didn't fully understand. He would say things like, "We'll get through this together," or "It'll get better, just give it time." But time felt irrelevant. Nothing seemed like it was getting better. Every day was a fight to just get out of bed. The seizures had drained her—both physically and emotionally. The worst part was the uncertainty. There was no clear end in sight.

"Maybe I'll never get better," Alessia thought, her eyes drifting to the window again. "Maybe this is all I'll ever be now. Maybe I'll never be able to live the life I once had."

That thought weighed heavily on her heart. The girl who used to dream of a future, who used to have ambitions, had disappeared, replaced by someone who couldn't even leave her own home without fear of a seizure. The fear of losing control had taken over her life, and no matter how many times Giovanni told her to be strong or how many times he assured her it would get better, Alessia couldn't see the end of the tunnel.

The fear wasn't just physical. It was mental, emotional, spiritual. Each time she felt a seizure coming on—each time her vision blurred or her body trembled—she felt herself unravel a little more. It was as though the very essence of who she was was slipping through her fingers. She had never been weak, never afraid of taking on the world. But now, she was afraid of her own body.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft sound of footsteps outside her door. She knew it was Giovanni before the knock came. It was always him, the one who never gave up on her and refused to let her push him away. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She wasn't sure if she could keep up the façade for much longer, but she couldn't bear to see the look of worry in his eyes.

"Alessia," Giovanni's voice came through the door, tentative but filled with concern. "Can I come in?"

She sighed, pulling the blanket up around her shoulders as though it could shield her from the reality she was facing. "Yeah," she called out softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The door creaked open, and Giovanni stepped in, his eyes immediately finding hers. There was that look again—the worry, the uncertainty. He came over to the bed, sitting on the edge, his hand reaching for hers.

"I wanted to check on you," Giovanni said gently. "How are you feeling today?"

Alessia didn't respond right away. The question felt too simple and insubstantial for the weight of her feelings. She wasn't sure how to explain the way she felt, the confusion that swirled inside her. Instead, she gave him a small, tight smile that she had been wearing for weeks.

"Just tired," she said, her voice faint. "Same as usual."

Giovanni didn't buy it. He knew her too well. His brow furrowed in concern, and he squeezed her hand tighter.

"I know it's been hard," he said quietly. "But you're not alone, Alessia. We're in this together, okay? We'll figure this out."

She nodded, but the words didn't bring comfort. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate Giovanni's support—it was just that nothing seemed to make a difference anymore. She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust that things would get better. But how could they when she couldn't even trust her own body?

"Giovanni," she said after a long pause, her voice trembling slightly. "I'm scared."

Giovanni looked at her, his face softening with empathy. "What are you scared of?"

She closed her eyes, trying to push back the tears that threatened to spill. "I'm scared that I'll never get better. That is it. That I'll always be like this. And I'll never be able to be the person I used to be."

Giovanni's expression faltered, his grip on her hand tightening. "You'll get through this, Alessia. You're stronger than you think."

But even as he spoke the words, Alessia felt the weight of their meaning slip away. Stronger than I think? How could she be? She didn't feel strong. She felt broken.