I turn off the faucet and make my way back to the cubicle. “Hello?” I lean a shoulder against it. “Who’s there?” The weeping, which turns into little hiccups, does not subside, but there is no answer either. “Hey,” I try, softer now. “Are you okay? Should I call someone?” Maybe the police? Or someone else who actually cares? No answer. I’m running out of patience, and my nerves are shot as it is. My whole body is reeling with the news about Dad. “Look, either you answer or I kick down the door.”
