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And here we are again, another chapter of my story.😋

The little warrior obviously didn't know the following situation, and for the doctors it was better that way. They had to keep the little girl in the dark. For them, she couldn't bear any more heartbreak; her little heart wouldn't take it, they were sure of it.

The doctor resumed massaging the still raw and painful wounds, trying not to notice the pain coursing through the little girl. You could see on her face that it wasn't easy to see the suffering in the child herself. Her eyes welled up with tears at every touch, the same tears streaming down her face and falling onto her shirt. The little girl continued to try to contain the pain; she had to endure everything for her own good and that of her parents. Time continued to pass, and fortunately for the little girl, the pain finally subsided. Our protagonist saw her parents' eyes take on a calm expression, and with that same expression, they approached their little girl, offering their hands to reassure her and praising her for her endurance and endurance of the pain.

After the painful session, my parents carried their little girl out of that place that had now been branded as a horrible place, home to suffering and tears. My parents and their beloved daughter got into the car, and with sadness in their hearts for the news the doctor had mentioned, they headed toward the road home, where, as always at the end of each visit, they were greeted by the whole family.

The days passed, and like every week, in the last period of time, the little family was forced to travel back and forth between Piedmont and Liguria every week to provide for the care of their little girl's wounds. My parents hadn't even considered that even simple massages, if done incorrectly, could cause such serious damage. The doctor had warned them that they needed to learn how to perform these massages to prevent their little girl from risking any further problems.

When they arrived back at the hospital, they headed to the usual room that the little girl had by now nicknamed "The Torture Room." The day the little girl gave it this name, she almost burst out laughing at the thought. It was obviously a nervous laugh, certainly not one of happiness, but undoubtedly caused by all the pain she was willing to endure in front of everyone every week. Over time, the little girl had learned to tolerate the pain; she was now able to hide her suffering, or at least show it almost imperceptibly (or so she thought).

My parents still couldn't believe their eyes; they hadn't thought such a tiny being could endure so much suffering. Over time, the wounds obviously began to heal, leaving room for two beautiful and visible scars. When the little girl saw these scars in the mirror, she was almost pleasantly surprised; they were almost beautiful to look at. She hadn't expected scars to look like this; in fact, she had never seen any, so she probably didn't have any great expectations about them. As the scar gradually took hold and became more prominent, it all meant one thing... finally, the little girl could begin her real rehabilitation. However, this rehabilitation couldn't be done in Liguria; fortunately, they only needed to travel a few kilometers from their home to get to the place the doctor had indicated. My parents were happy not to have to travel all those kilometers. Of course, there would still have been a long way to go, but it would certainly have been much easier and, above all, less expensive. A couple more weeks passed, and finally the big day arrived. For the little girl, it all seemed like a dream. The moment had finally arrived, the real challenge, not out of fear, but because she couldn't wait to walk again, and the moment was finally getting closer and closer.

And here we are again, with the end of a new chapter. Please tell me what you think and leave me your thoughts in the comments.