The body keeps the score. Long before the mouth confesses anything, long before the mind admits the full extent of the damage, the body has already started its testimony. Eyes lose their light. Shoulders that once swelled with joy shrink until the gold bangles slide off the wrists. The forehead turns sallow at the slightest loosening of an embrace. In this chapter, the woman separated from her lover does not speak of her grief — her body speaks it for her, syllable by syllable, limb by limb. And here is the twist that makes the chapter more than a catalog of symptoms: she does not want this testimony. Her wasting arms and dimmed eyes are broadcasting her private suffering to every passerby, calling her absent lover cruel, and she cannot stop them. The body has become an informant she never authorized. By the chapter's end, even the pallor on her eyes feels grief — sorrow has become so pervasive that it infects the symptoms themselves, the disease mourning its own progress.