It shattered against the wall inches from my head. Shards of glass rained down on us, glittering like deadly confetti. I flinched, curling my body tighter around Mrs. Rosa, shielding her face with my shoulder.
“Mrs. Moretti,” I whispered into her ear, my voice shaking despite my best efforts to be brave. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. I’m here. I won’t let her touch you again.”
Mrs. Rosa couldn’t speak. The stroke she’d suffered three months ago had stolen half her words, leaving her trapped in a prison of silence. But her hands—her thin, paper-dry hands—clutched my nurse’s uniform with a strength born of pure fear.
Then, the temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
“What the hell is going on here?”
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