Olivia took the little hand gently. Tommy stood quiet, but his eyes shone. “You work here now?” he asked softly.
“I do.” Ellen looked at Olivia carefully. “You really okay?”
Olivia smiled. For the first time in a long while, it was real. In the corners of her mouth and in her eyes.
“I’m okay.” They stood there another ten minutes. Ellen said things at home were about the same.
The kids were doing fine in preschool, and her husband was away on a work trip. Olivia listened and nodded. When visiting time ended, Ellen rested her forehead against the bars.
“Come see us when you can. We miss you.” “I will.”
They said goodbye and went their separate ways. Olivia walked back to her unit slowly. Something in her chest had finally thawed.
Something small, but warm. That evening at 9:40 she locked herself in her room. Sat down on the creaking cot.
Opened the nightstand drawer. Took out her father’s knife. Black handle. Narrow blade.
She laid it across her palm. The steel was cold, but familiar. She looked at it for a long time.
Three minutes maybe. Four. She remembered her father. The way he had taught her to hold a knife the right way.
The way he taught her to cut fast and true. The way he always said it was not a toy, Liv. It was a tool. Last argument in the room.
She ran a finger carefully along the blade. “Easy now. Don’t cut yourself.” “Thank you, Dad,” she whispered.
Then she put the knife back in the drawer. Closed it gently. She did not lock it. Just in case.
She stood and walked to the window. Beyond the cloudy glass she could see the fence, the guard tower, and a strip of sky. The place was quiet…
