Sienna realized something was wrong on a Monday morning.
Not in a dramatic, lightning-strike kind of way. It was quieter than that. Subtle. The kind of wrong that creeps in when you're brushing your teeth and thinking about emails and deadlines and pretending your life isn't balanced on a knife's edge.
She was already ten minutes late for a client meeting she absolutely could not reschedule. Hair half-dried. Blazer hanging on the back of the door. Phone buzzing on the counter.
And then the nausea hit.
Not the slow, rolling wave kind.
The violent kind.
It came out of nowhere and knocked the air out of her lungs. One second she was standing there, the next she was scrambling for the toilet, barely making it before her body folded in on itself.
She threw up. Hard.
Her entire body shook with it, like something was trying to tear its way out of her.
