The next morning, Alessia tried again to leave the house. Giovanni had encouraged her to go for a walk and get some fresh air. "It'll help," he'd said, "Just a short walk. We'll take it slow. You don't have to do it alone."

But as they reached the front door, Alessia felt the familiar wave of panic wash over her. The moment she stepped outside, the world seemed to grow impossibly large, overwhelming her senses. The sun seemed too bright, the air too heavy. She felt she couldn't breathe like the world was pressing on her.

"Alessia?" Giovanni asked, turning to face her, concern flickering in his eyes.

"I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I can't do it."

Giovanni reached for her hand, pulling her back inside gently. "It's okay. You don't have to. But we'll try again tomorrow, alright?"

Alessia nodded, though she didn't know if she believed him. What was tomorrow going to change? Would she suddenly feel stronger? Would the fear disappear?

Inside the house, she sat on the couch, her hands resting in her lap as she tried to steady her breathing. The isolation was becoming unbearable. The fear of leaving the house, the fear of having a seizure in public, the fear of losing control—it was all-consuming. But it was more than that. It was the feeling of being trapped and a prisoner in her own mind.

Alessia had always been the type of person who thrived on independence. She had always wanted to prove herself, to show the world that she was strong, capable, and in control. But now, control had slipped through her fingers, and she didn't know how to get it back.

"Why am I so weak?" she thought bitterly, clenching her fists. "Why can't I just fight this?"