Nobody answered from the quiet corridor.

Brooklyn swung her legs over the side of the mattress.

She didn’t pull on her shoes or look for her sweater.

She walked across the carpet to the wooden doorframe.

My mother was already twenty feet down the restricted hallway, passing the wall sanitizer dispensers.

Brooklyn stared at the corner of the wall where the dark wool coat had disappeared.

My mother turned the corner near the blue door sign for Pod B, where Rosalie lay inside her glass case.