Nathan’s jaw tightened, a tiny muscle twitching beneath his smooth, shaved cheek.

For a second, the calm facade slipped, and I saw a flash of raw, cold anger in his eyes.

“She’s remembering things that didn’t happen, Sarah,” he said, his tone clipping each word short. “Her mind is rewriting her history.”

“Is it?” I asked.

“My father died thirty years ago,” Nathan said, stepping closer to the side of the bed. “He was a quiet man. A dentist.”

“He wasn’t quiet,” Eleanor cried out suddenly, her voice cracking with a high, childlike terror. “He had the leather strap. I had to hide you, Nathan. I hid you in the dark where he couldn’t reach.”

She shrank back further, pulling the heavy floral quilt up to her chin.

Nathan didn’t look at her; his eyes remained locked on mine.

“You see?” he said softly. “She is living in a fantasy. She projects her fears onto the people who are trying to help her.”

He reached out, his hand hovering over Eleanor’s shoulder, his fingers long and pale.