The Traces of a Lifetime

Maria, 69 (a fictitious name), sits silently on the sofa by her bed, her hollow eyes and weary face suggesting hesitation. Soon, she begins to speak to me—first lamenting her illness, the paralysis in her leg and arm. But as tears streak her face, her story unfolds: a childhood spent in servitude, enduring nights on haystacks with only a thin coat for warmth, surrounded by damp, crumbling walls.
The weight of those early hardships lingers, decades later, etched into her emotional and physical being. They say the body keeps the score—a haunting truth that reverberates through her life even now.