“Don’t turn on the light,” he said. “You’ll wake her.”

“She is already in danger,” I said. “Your mother is in her room. You put her there.”

Nathan let go of my wrist.

He took a step back, his silhouette blotting out the pale moonlight from the window.

“My mother is confused,” he said. “She wanders.”

“You were pushing her,” I said. “I saw you on the screen. You had a notebook.”

Nathan turned his back to me and walked toward the window.

The wind rattled the glass outside.

“She is losing her mind, Clara,” he said. “I am trying to help her.”

“By forcing her into our daughter’s bedroom?” I asked.

I swung my legs out of bed.

The hardwood floor was freezing beneath my bare feet.

I stood up, keeping the bed between us.

“That wasn’t her wandering,” I said. “You were directing her. You were writing down what she did.”

Nathan did not deny it.

He looked down at the phone in his hand.

“She remembers things when she is in that room,” he said.

“What things?” I asked.