But she wasn’t. Not to him. That answer came crashing like a second wave over the first, drowning out panic and covering me in an unusual calm. Bridget was found. She was within God’s sight and in the very palm of his sovereignty.

I had been lost once. Enveloped in such darkness that I couldn’t even see the floor that was holding me up. Yet God knew where to find me, when to do it, and how to overcome the thing I feared most. This is where he existed—not in the perfection, but in the cold darkness, in the messiest tears, in the deepest despair, on the dirty floor of my prison, ready to meet me with his presence.

I climbed out of bed when I’d given up on sleep—somewhere nearing eleven—and slipped through the priest hole to the only place at Hurstwell where I felt at home. There, streaked in moonlight, the beautiful Broadwood waited for me. I smiled and lit a candle, lifting the fallboard and stopping short at the sight of a note on the keys. It was on plain paper, not sheet music, and the writing was entirely different than the ghostly letter with the rose petals.

There’s a small gift for you in the closet. The only thing of real importance you’ve ever asked me for. How could I not give it?

Blinking back my surprise, I rose and walked to the closet. It was the gown I’d packed from home hanging there, in desperate need of pressing but whole and soft and dearly familiar. I ran my hands over the deep red poplin gown with velvet trim that I had worn the night of that final parlor performance, then buried my face in it. It had been foolish to tuck it away in my satchel when I’d come here, but now I was glad. Pinned to the bodice was another note.

You’re not a blue gown or a gray,

A patient or an aid.

You are simply you.

A flame as bright as day.

The small key for my handcuffs fell from the last fold of the note, and I snatched it up with a cry, jamming it in the lock until it clicked. I pulled them off like a madwoman, breathing deep and stretching my arms wide. Then, with wonder I slipped back into that gown from another lifetime, felt its smooth hug of my curves, and walked to the center of that sacred room, taking in its silent splendor as one made new. “For once—for once—let me be more than a patient at an asylum. Simply let me be a human.” What ferocity I’d launched those words with, but he’d heard them. Tonight I was no longer merely a patient at Hurstwell—I was me again.

But I’d always been that.

Light in the darkness.