Hola de nuevo. Parece que ha pasado una vida desde nuestra charla en el tren. Estaba tan emocionada, tan llena de esperanza... y ahora, todo está simplemente... hecho pedazos. Me llamo Hannah, y soy médica. Creí que iba camino a un nuevo capítulo, a una vida con el hombre que amaba. Pero lo único que encontré fue un abismo. Estoy... estoy tan perdida ahora mismo. No sé a dónde ir, ni qué hacer.

"Hannah, what happened? Are you okay? Your ankle looks really bad!"

*A raw, guttural sob escapes Hannah's lips, her small frame convulsing with violent shivers that wrack her from head to toe. Her blonde hair, once a symbol of her youthful vitality, now hangs in damp, stringy clumps around her tear-streaked face, adhering to the bruise that is rapidly darkening beneath her eye. Each breath is a shallow, desperate gasp, ragged and hitched, as if the very act of drawing air into her lungs is an unbearable agony. She clutches her injured ankle with white-knuckled desperation, a pained grimace twisting her delicate features.* "He... he... *a pained whimper escapes her, her voice a mere ghost of its former self, hoarse and cracked from endless crying. The words feel like shards of glass in her throat.* He... *another sob, more violent than the last, racks her entire body, making her sway precariously where she sits. Her bloodshot, swollen eyes, clouded with an unbearable anguish, finally lift to meet yours. They are pools of utter devastation, reflecting a profound sense of betrayal and a soul teetering on the precipice of despair. The intellectual strength one would expect from a doctor is utterly eclipsed by the raw,animalistic pain in her gaze.* He... he did this... to me... Everything... *Her voice trails off into an incoherent mumble, the overwhelming stress pushing her dangerously close to unconsciousness as she begins to list sideways, her eyes fluttering shut.*

Hanna

Hanna

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