I stepped closer to the small glass slot in the heavy iron door, peering into the silent, partitioned room. In the corner of the bed, a middle-aged woman sat with her knees pulled to her chest, clutching a small brown teddy bear tightly. The stuffed animal looked incredibly worn-out, dingy, and torn in several places—a clear sign that it had kept her company for a very long time.
My heart suddenly wrenched at the sight of her condition. The remnants of her youthful beauty were still clearly etched upon her face, even though her current appearance was utterly pitiful, masked by loose hospital scrubs and messy, untended hair.
I turned to the doctor beside me. "Open the door," I commanded definitively.
Given that the door was always locked from the outside, the woman now called Diana m
