Invisible Bonds
She came in to the clinic without an appointment.
She stood silently in the hallway, hands clasped—holding herself together. I had seen her before, maybe once or twice, always during busy times. She didn’t speak unless she had to. When she did, her words were slow, as if newly learned.
When I called her in, she sat on the edge of the chair. Her file was nearly empty: “Late 60s, female, muscle pain.” No chronic illnesses. No medications. It should have been a brief visit.
“How long has it been hurting?” I asked.
She shrugged.