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The door doesn’t click.It sighs closed.Like everything in this house is meant tosoothe.Like the edges have all been sanded down.No corners.No sharp objects.No clocks.

I drink the smoothie.I take the pill.Not because I want to.Because I know the only way out is through.

Ten minutes later, I’m groggy again.But mostly, just numb.

The day unspools in quiet increments.

They let me shower, though there’s no lock on the door.Not that it would matter either way.I’m not allowed to shut it, not allowed to be left alone.The mirror is fogged but I catch pieces of myself around the edges: a cheekbone, the curve of my throat, the way my hand trembles when I reach for the shampoo.

There’s a comb, but no brush.

I dry myself with towels that smell like rain, then step back into the robe.I don’t ask questions.I don’t try to leave.

This isn’t a prison.It’s a reset.

They want me grateful.

Later, someone appears.A man this time.Younger.Polished.He hands me a silk dress and says, “Lunch is downstairs.”

I nod.That’s the game.

He doesn’t follow me.He doesn’t have to.I walk the stairs like I’ve always belonged here.

The dining room is glass on three sides.The table is already set.Two plates.A vase of pale roses.

Robert is waiting.

He stands when I enter, like we’re playing house.

“There’s my girl,” he says, all warmth and charm and possession.

He crosses the room.Kisses my cheek.Holds it too long.

“You look radiant,” he says.“So much better.”

I smile.Just the corners of my mouth.Just enough.

“Sit,” he says.

I do.

Lunch is light.Grilled something.Something green.He eats like he has a camera on him.Small bites.Napkin in lap.

He talks.About renovations.About vacations we never took.About how I’ve been“making progress.”

I nod.I don’t answer.Not until he says:

“Do you remember what happened?”

I pause.Set my fork down.

He leans forward, gaze steady.“You had a break.A full episode.You got confused.Ran off.It wasn’t your fault.”

I nod again.“I was sick.”

His smile widens.“That’s right.”

“I imagined it.”