Sveta took it, then hugged it to her upper body, lower face buried in it, eyes peering over. She inhaled, and she could smell the familiar scents of Weld’s apartment.

“You’re not staying with your friends?” Jessica asked.

“No,” Sveta said. “I’m anxious, and I keep playing out nightmare scenarios in my head. The room they’re lending me is so nice, I’m worried if I slip up, I’ll break or tear something. And the door doesn’t… secure.”

“It doesn’t lock?”

“It locks, but not in a way that stops me, or stops either of them. I could tear off the doorknob and hurt the person standing on the other side, or take the door off the hinges. I stayed there the last two nights and tonight I was here and I decided… maybe I’d stay in an office like this one.”

“Are you more comfortable?”

“This door doesn’t secure either. But it’s better.”

“Let me know if I can help.”

“Okay.”

Again, she breathed in deep. It comforted her and hurt at the same time.

“Victoria’s going to come in shortly. She wanted me to hear you out or talk to you. The way she puts it, she’s worried she bullied or pressured you into this, she wanted me as the contradicting opinion. Someone who knows you well enough to be gentle.”

“You’re here to tell me it’s a bad idea?”

“I’m here to ask you why you think it’s a good idea. Then we can talk about that. Do you want to get comfortable? I have more things Victoria gave me.”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll take it off your hands.”

Jessica didn’t flinch from the reaching tendrils this time. Sveta took the bag, setting the portfolio down.

“I remember this,” Jessica said. “Ernesto Ochoa?”

The portfolio hadn’t closed in the time since Sveta had been staring down at the page. Now it lay on the floor, open to Ernesto’s sketch.

Sveta nodded, solemn. She was glad the page had turned and that it wasn’t still open to the image of Weld she’d been looking at.

“You don’t still blame yourself for him, do you? I remember, after he was transferred to another wing for care, you kept apologizing, over and over, even though you’d only ever offered him comforting words and kindness.”

“Isn’t it okay, if I did blame myself?” Sveta asked.

The bag had other pieces of clothing, new articles that Victoria had apparently picked out on her own, probably earlier tonight. When Vic had offered to take Sveta shopping, Sveta had said she’d rather hang back here and rest. Vicky had apparently gone shopping with her in mind regardless.

“I think blame isn’t healthy, as a rule.”