Ambrose grabs my arm. “Mouse, stop.” I yank it away too forcefully and it collides with the wall behind me. I curse under my breath, cradling my elbow in my hand. “Don’t call me that.” “What are you so afraid of? You know she’d love it if you visited her.” “Oh, really? Did she tell you that?” Ambrose flinches as if I’ve smacked him. “I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” We stare at each other in the dark. Two broken people, trapped between four walls that look shiny and new. “I’m not ready to see her, Ambrose,” I whisper. “Not like that.”
