Free What She Left Behind by Ellen Marie Wiseman

turned to enter a stairwell. The nurse started down first, then stopped on the fourth step. Nurse McCarn was coming up the stairs.
    “Oh,” the nurse said to Clara. “Never mind. Maybe some other time.” She turned and hurried back up the steps. Clara followed.
    “Nurse Yott!” Nurse McCarn called behind them, her footsteps pounding up the steps. Nurse Yott’s shoulders dropped. She stopped and waited, frowning. Nurse McCarn reached them and put one hand on her hip, her forehead furrowed. “Where were you going? Your instructions were to deliver this patient to her room.”
    “I was taking Clara outside,” Nurse Yott said. “To get a little fresh air.”
    Nurse McCarn glared at Nurse Yott, her jaw working in and out. “It’s not up to you to make decisions about what’s best for a patient,” she said. “Take her back to her room this very instant.”
    Nurse Yott dropped her eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Try to remember you’re not a doctor,” Nurse McCarn said. “You might do well to learn from my example. I’ve been at the Long Island Home for over twenty years and always follow the doctor’s orders to the letter!”
    “I’m sorry,” Nurse Yott said, her face turning red.
    Nurse McCarn shook her head and clucked her tongue. “This is the second time I’ve had to speak to you about something. You’d better watch your step, Nurse Yott.”
    Clara swallowed and stepped forward. “Dr. Thorn instructed her to take me outside,” she said. “I told him I was feeling a little cooped up and he asked if going outside for a few minutes would help.”
    Nurse McCarn stared at Clara, her mouth pinched. Clara held her gaze. Finally, Nurse McCarn looked at Nurse Yott. “Is this true?” she said.
    Nurse Yott nodded.
    Nurse McCarn pressed her lips together, a blue vein popping out on her forehead. She was struggling, trying not to lose her temper. “Carry on,” she said, waving a hand toward the stairwell. “You’ve got ten minutes before lunch. Make sure the patient is in the cafeteria on time. If she’s late, I’ll hold you responsible.” She shook her head in disgust and marched down the hallway.
    Nurse Yott smiled at Clara. “Thank you,” she said. “I swear she’s got it out for me.”
    That was ten weeks ago. It felt like ten years.
    Now, Clara reached out for the letter on her desk. When she first saw it that morning, her heart leapt in her chest, hoping it was from Bruno. At long last, he had answered her daily letters. Then she saw Henry’s formal script on the front of the envelope and fell back on the bed, her hands over her face. She couldn’t imagine why Bruno hadn’t written back. At first, she worried her letters had been intercepted somehow. But that didn’t make sense. She took them down to the front desk and dropped them in the locked mailbox herself. After the first month went by with no word, she started waking up in a cold sweat, panicked that something bad had happened. Her father was a power-hungry tyrant, to be sure. But he wouldn’t go as far as getting rid of Bruno, would he? Briefly, the thought crossed her mind that Bruno forgot about her. Maybe their love affair had meant nothing to him. Maybe she was just one woman in a long line of women. But no. It had been more than that. Much more. She was certain of it. Still, she preferred picturing Bruno with another woman to the image that assaulted her mind every night: Bruno floating beside her brother, William, faceup in the Hudson River.
    She took a step back from the desk and put her fingers over her mouth, suddenly sick to her stomach again, even though eating dry toast at breakfast had helped her nausea. Her father wasn’t writing to say hello after nearly three months of silence. Christmas and New Year’s had come and gone and there hadn’t been so much as a card. Was she finally getting out of this place, or was she being forced to stay longer?
    She took a deep breath and picked up the letter again, vowing to open