“She doesn’t want it, Nathan,” I said, shifting my body to block his view of her.

Nathan stopped.

The silence in the room grew heavy, filled only by the dry, shallow sound of Eleanor’s breathing.

“I am her physician, Sarah, as well as her son,” he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its warm, bedside manner. “I know exactly what she needs to keep her from hurting herself.”

“She isn’t hurting herself,” I said. “She was talking to me. She was perfectly clear.”

Nathan looked at me, his gaze moving slowly across my face, analyzing my expression.

“And what did she say to you?” he asked.

The air in the room felt thick, smelling of old paper and the sharp, medicinal scent of Nathan’s hand sanitizer.

“She was talking about the past,” I said, keeping my voice flat. “About your father.”

Eleanor let out a low whimpering sound behind me, her forehead pressing against my shoulder blade.

“The cellar,” she whispered into my coat. “I had to put him in the cellar when the shouting started. I had to lock the door so he wouldn’t find him.”