I walked backward out of the room with her, and Richard followed, his ever-steady gaze unsettling me. The nurse paused, presumably to allow for final goodbyes, and I pleaded with every ounce of my strength in that look. A hot tear budded in the corner of my eye, and Richard’s mask slipped for a brief, vulnerable second, angst creasing his features, then it was back up, decision made. He bowed his head and turned his back on me, leather boots thudding on the front hall tile as he strode toward the door without another glance. Without me.

I fisted my dress and screamed in my head. I fought the tears so hard I shook as I watched his tall figure stride out those doors, then Nurse Duffy was poking my back, urging me along. “It’s longer than we allow most patients. You aren’t even supposed to have visitors, you know. You ought to be grateful.”

As his shadow disappeared out into the sunshine, I wrapped my hands around my upset stomach. We crossed the rug of that great entryway.

Duffy sighed behind me. “Sometimes people who love us do what we need them to do, not what we want.” Her words came out in clipped tones with an odd hint of warmth softening the edges.

I forced my spine to straighten and matched my stride to hers. I’d never been the harmony to his melody, had I? He’d merely sat back and enjoyed what he heard, a song he liked the sound of without really understanding all the little nuances, the complexities and depth of tone. Nor did he care to.

All my eccentricities. As if I was myself in spite of those things, not because of them.

“Bodies are broken at times, and so are minds. Broken people belong in hospital.”

I felt numb. Clammy. We headed toward the dining hall. It was lunchtime now, but my insides felt too tight for any sort of food. “I need to use the water closet, if you please.”

She veered to the left and paused before the door, shifting her weight. “Be quick about it.”

I ladled a spoonful of stew but dripped it back into the bowl before me.

“Buck up now, will you?” Bridget whispered as I sat beside her on the bench that evening at supper. “You survived solitary. You’re free now, aren’t you?”

I stared straight ahead. “I’ve never been further from it.”

She slipped me her half piece of bread. “Of course you’re not free, if you try and escape the way you did. Running only makes them lock you up tighter.” She leaned over her potato, lifting knife and fork to saw it into perfect little cubes. “Heaven knows what you were thinking.”

“Don’t you long to be out? Aren’t you desperate for escape?”