Page 29 of Unbroken

"Oh, good, good," she says quietly. "My dog had puppies, so I've been up all night taking care of the little rascals. Other than that, can't complain. They're adorable."

She smiles warmly, then turns her attention to Vadka.

"And you, Vadka?”

Vadka just nods, saying nothing else. Josie, undeterred, continues with a gentle smile.

"Bet your little boy's getting bigger," she says.

In my mother's room, there's a faded picture of Luka as a chubby, rosy-cheeked baby. It's the only thing she keeps—a tiny relic of the life she once had.

"He is," Vadka says, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Going to preschool in the fall."

We're all silent for a long moment, and I wonder if it's for the same reason. For me, it's because my mind can't help the mental gymnastics of imagining my sister's child getting older without her being here.

Will it always be like this? Will everything I do always be shadowed by the thought that Mariah isn't with us anymore?

An older man with sagging skin and wide, wild eyes screams obscenities from one corner of the hallway. Another woman wheels by us in her wheelchair, happily singing to herself—something about going to the zoo with her mother.

Someone pushes a tray with a squeaky wheel past us to the right, carrying bowls of soup and slices of bread. The smell makes me a little nauseous. I've never liked the food here.

Vadka clenches his jaw and stands up taller, bracing himself.

"She met with her physical therapist today?" he asks, voice steady.

Since when did my mother start meeting with a physical therapist? Why doesheknow that, and I don't?

And why does that unsettle me so much?

"Unfortunately, no," Josie says quietly. "She's too combative to meet with anybody today."

Vadka's phone buzzes with a text. He glances at it, his eyebrows knitting together before he taps something out quickly and shoves his phone back in his pocket.

"Did you move her?" I ask Josie. Mom's room used to be the first one on the right after the nurses' station, but we're walking even further down the hall now.

Josie looks at me almost apologetically. "Yeah, we had to bring her to a more secure location," she says gently.

Shit. This is worse than I feared. I'm glad we're here.

I'm gladhe'shere too.

I hear her screaming before we even reach the door. The closer we get, the louder and more desperate her voice becomes, hoarse with anger and confusion.

Inside, the room is smaller, more contained, and stripped of anything that could be used to hurt herself or others. I half expect padded walls and a straightjacket… and I’m not too far off. The curtains are heavy, and the windows are double-locked. A single bed, bolted to the floor, sits against the far wall. There's a chair in the corner and little else.

My heart twists painfully at the sight.

"Mary," Vadka greets in his calm way that always brings a flicker of peace to my mother's face.

“Vadka! Get me out of here! I hate it. They hurt me. I don’t want to be here.”

"You're safe here. We trust these people. They're here to help you," he says, voice gentle but firm, the way someone might speak to an overtired child.

She clenches her jaw and shakes her head, so thin and frail she reminds me of a scarecrow, her once-blonde hair now faded to gray, straggled and unbrushed.

“I won’t.” My mother’s jaw clenches, and my stomach tightens. I hate when she does this. She’s impossible to reason with and sometimes becomes volatile. I don’t know what’s worse—knowing I can’t help her or when they have to restrain her.

I open my mouth to try to cajole her into behaving when Vadka’s voice sharpens, taking on a sterner edge. He anchors his hands on his hips. "Alright. That’s enough. You need to do what they say now. Do you understand me?"