Bitterness rises in her all over again, fear momentarily forgotten. Dr. Harrington and John shake hands, so civilized—neither of them looking at her—as though she were a mere business agreement, not a patient or a beloved sister. And all the while, John still has his other hand on her arm. She pulls away roughly.

“I am perfectly capable of walking on my own.” The words snap, and she steps away from her brother; more pettiness. All three men watch her, as if she might turn into a bird and fly away.

Wendy lifts her chin, but does not look at any of them. She won’t even say goodbye. Let that sit on John’s conscience. Without leave, she walks past Dr. Harrington toward St. Bernadette’s front doors. If this is to be her fate, she’ll go to it on her own, not dragged or guided. Her boot heels strike hard against the crushed stone even though her legs tremble beneath her skirt, but she refuses to slow or give in.

“Wendy!” John’s footsteps scuff the path behind her.

It puts even more resolve into her step, and Wendy quickens her pace. She doesn’t turn, doesn’t stop, and hears Dr. Harrington intercept her brother, his voice smooth and practiced, used to soothing patients.

“Perhaps it’s better this way, Mr. Darling. Your sister is in good hands here. Once she’s had a chance to settle, you can visit her, of course.” Implied is that Wendy will be more docile then. There isn’t a speck of doubt in Dr. Harrington’s voice—he will see her cured.

Despite herself, Wendy’s shoulders hunch. Dr. Harrington’s words grate, his tone scraping at her, through flesh to bone. She wants to turn and pummel him, closed fists against his shoulders and chest, but she forces her arms to hang loose at her sides. She’s broken more plates and cups in her rages at Michael and John than she cares to count. For once, she must keep her temper under control.

“Miss Darling.” Dr. Harrington catches up to her, Jamieson still shadowing him. Wendy doesn’t turn to see if John remains on the path, watching. “Allow me to show you to your room.”

Dr. Harrington says the words as though she is a guest, free to leave whenever she wants.

“I think you will find it most amenable here. Our staff and facilities are excellent. The only thing we want in this world is to make you well.”

Wendy’s mouth opens, but no sound emerges. Somehow, they’ve reached the end of the path, climbed the steps. The door frames them. Dr. Harrington takes her arm. Jamieson stands behind him. Even if she were to pull free, there is nowhere to run.

“This way.”