“You know, I always wondered what happened to you.”

“Really? I don’t think about high school much.”

She gave a short laugh. “Yeah. I wouldn’t either if I’d been Library Lena.”

That one hit because it was the same old tactic: say something subtle enough that it can’t be proven, but sharp enough to linger all day.

I began to dread Room 304.

I never told anyone I knew her.

It felt childish somehow, like high school pain should have expired by now. I was 41. I had a mortgage, bad knees, and a son in college. Why could one woman still make my hands shake?

I started counting down the days until her discharge.

When it finally came, I realized I wasn’t going to be free of Margaret that easily.

At noon, Dr. Stevens stopped me outside the supply room.

“Hey, Lena,” he said. “I’d like you to handle Room 304’s discharge personally.”

I blinked. “Sure.”

“Let me know before you go in.”

It was a slightly unusual request, and something in his tone made my nerves tighten.

That was when I knew this wasn’t just a routine discharge.

“Of course,” I said.

When I knocked and stepped into her room just after three, she was already dressed, lipstick on, purse packed, discharge folder on the tray table.

Waiting.

“Well,” she said. “Perfect timing.”

I forced a smile and picked up the folder. “Let’s review your discharge instructions.”

She folded her hands neatly. “You should resign, Lena. Immediately.”

For a second, I thought I’d heard her wrong.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“You should resign,” she repeated. “I’ve already spoken to the doctor.”

My fingers tightened around the papers. “About what?”

She tilted her head slightly. “About how you’ve been treating me.”

“What? I’ve treated you appropriately this entire time.”

“You’ve been rough. Adjusting things harder than necessary, delaying when I call, and your tone…” She shook her head sadly. “You’ve used your position to mistreat me because of the past.”