She’s been in here so long that the woman has started to leave the door ajar when she comes in to bring her food, take her temperature, or measure her height and weight.

This time when the woman comes in with the thermometer, the little girl waits until she has turned around, then she bolts for the exit.

She’s fast – her daddy always said she was like a greased weasel – and she thinks she’ll run all the way home.

When she gets out of the room, there are stairs and another door but this one is locked. She fights with the knob, sobbing and shouting. She can feel the woman standing at the bottom of the steps, just watching her. After a while she gives up and turns around.

The woman points. ‘Back to your room.’

The little girl shakes her head.

The woman sighs and climbs the stairs. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’ She catches the little girl by the fleshy part of her arm.

When she tosses her back in her room, the little girl has bruises in the shape of the woman’s fingers.