“How can the door get locked by itself?”
Esther’s voice is a sharp whip-crack in the hallway which is directed at a flustered nurse. “My husband is sleeping in there! How could he possibly have locked it?”
I hold my breath, peering through the narrow crack of the closet door. It’s suffocating inside, dark, cramped, and smelling of stale linen and antiseptic. Every breath feels too loud. Hiding here was a last-second, desperate decision. If I hadn’t, Esther would be questioning me right now, or worse, I might have already done something recklessly voilent to silence her.
She keeps barking at the poor nurse, her words clipped and entitled. The nurse finally manages to stammer out an apology about the automatic lock possibly engaging if the door was shut too firmly, and then her quick foo
