CLARA
I rested against the doorframe, eyes fixed on Harper as she leaned over the toilet bowl, her grip tight on the edge.
"Why do I have to go through this unpleasantness every morning?" she groaned as she dropped one hand, clutching her stomach tightly. "Do I need to stop eating sandwiches? I thought yesterday's was the best."
I shook my head, taking a step toward her, wrinkling my nose. "I don't think it has anything to do with what you ate."
"Are you done?" I asked, pinching my nose before pushing the flush button. I curled my lips in disgust and quickly shut the lid.
I helped her up, guided her to the sink, and turned on the tap.
After she finished rinsing her mouth and washing her face, she turned to me. "What do you mean it has nothing to do with what I ate?"
"You've been throwing up for a week after you arrived here," I said. "And you've eaten a lot more than just that sandwich."
