“Mom.” She knocked again, softly, tried the knob again. Her voice was raspy, weak. “Let me out, Mom.”
Her mother leaned against the wall outside, eyes closed, exhausted. “I can’t, honey. Not yet. Just… not yet.”
“LET ME OUT!” The knocking turned to banging, the pleading to yelling, then screaming, then muffled sobbing.
“I love you. I can’t let you out.” Her mother sat, back to the wall, head in hands. “Not yet. Not until we’re sure you’re ok. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I swear.”
The next morning, the knocking resumed, but slowly, accompanied by moaning.