“Brooke,” she says sharply. “I need to talk to you.”

“What about?” I glance at my watch. “I’ve got patients to see shortly.”

“I’d rather not talk out here. Let’s go to my office.”

She cocks her finger at me, and I follow her wordlessly to her office. We could have talked in the examining room, where I would’ve had some leverage. Instead, Dorothy gets to sit at her desk while I sit at the small chair in front of her desk, feeling very much like a child being disciplined by the principal. I rack my brain to think of what I might have done to upset her. Really, it could be anything. It doesn’t take much to set Dorothy off—I’ve been doing my best to stay out of her way.

Dorothy settles into her ergonomic leather chair, her eyes boring into me. “We got a delivery this morning. A pressure relief mattress.”

Despite everything, I feel a jolt of happiness. It’s been weeks since I filled out the forms Officer Hunt gave me and after a few frustrating phone calls, I had started to lose hope. “Mr. Carpenter’s mattress came?”

“Brooke.” Her lips set into a straight line. “I already told you we don’t have the resources to provide every patient with a special customized soft mattress. You’re going to bankrupt the prison.”

“Mr. Carpenter isn’t every patient. He’s a paraplegic, and he has a non-healing pressure wound on his sacrum. This is a medical treatment.”

“A comfy mattress is not a medical treatment.”

When I first started at the prison, I had thought Dorothy looked familiar to me. It suddenly hits me who she reminds me of—my mother. As I stare across Dorothy’s desk at her square face with her tan chin tilted slightly up in the air, I can’t help but remember how my mother used to boss me around. She always believed she knew better than me, and she couldn’t stand it if I ever disagreed with her—it was her way or the highway.

You can’t possibly be thinking of keeping that monster’s baby, Brooke. I won’t allow it.

But I kept my baby. I didn’t let her push me around that time. And I won’t let Dorothy push me around anymore. I’m sick of being a victim.

“It’s a pressure relief mattress.” I stare at her, unblinking. “Without this mattress, he is for sure going to end up in the hospital and maybe need surgery to get this repaired.

Dorothy snorts. “Please don’t be so dramatic. How long has it been since you graduated from school? Five minutes? When you’ve been a nurse as long as I have, you know what patients need and what they just want.”