Isabella woke with a dull ache in her stomach again. For the third morning in a row, she felt as if her insides were spinning. The moment she tried to sit up, nausea hit hard. She barely made it to the bathroom before throwing up everything she had eaten the night before.

Her hands trembled as she rinsed her mouth and leaned against the sink. Her reflection in the mirror looked pale and tired dark circles under her eyes, hair messy from restless sleep.

“What’s wrong with me?” she whispered, her voice shaking.

The door opened softly. Her mother, Clara, peeked in, concern written all over her face.

“Sweetheart?” she...