The sanatorium was a clean and tidy place. The people she saw in the corridors passed Blanche a kind smile, and Blanche started to feel that maybe she'd done right to put Jane in this place.

Blanche had called ahead and told the lady at the reception desk that she'd be arriving to see the head doctor. A nice passer-by had helped her up the steps to the front door and into the foyer. Once inside, she'd been instructed to take the elevator to the third floor.

Blanche read the signs on the doors attentively. When she'd finally reached the last door at the end of the corridor, before she could even read the sign, the door was swung open, and Blanche saw a tall figure towering over her. The man noticed her too late, walking into her chair and nearly falling over before he caught himself between the door frame and the armrest of Blanche's wheel chair.

Blanche sunk back in her chair in scare. The man straightened up quickly, and looked down at the startled woman with a frown. Blanche found it hard to determine whether he was annoyed or embarrassed—maybe both. "Forgive me, Miss," he muttered distantly. "If you've come to see me, you'd better wait in my office. I'll be with you soon, but right now I'm needed elsewhere." Leaving the door open for Blanche—or maybe simply in his haste—the man stepped around the wheel chair and strode hurriedly down the hall.

Bewildered, Blanche looked at him go until he turned a corner and was out of sight. She hadn't felt the collision physically for the man had stumbled against her legs, but the least he could have done was ask if she was all right. And yet it was somehow reassuring to know that not everyone would stop and treat her differently because of her incapability.

Blanche turned in her chair and finally dared to look into the room the man had left. Her hands moved to the wheels at her sides and she entered slowly. Looking around for someone to ask about the doctor, Blanche realized she was alone in the large office. The sign on the desk said, "Dr. Brown."

And suddenly Blanche had a feeling she should have brought Lynn. The man she'd met earlier had somehow managed to shatter her confidence. If that was Dr. Brown and they were going to talk about Jane, she feared her prediction might have been right—she would return home upset.

Minutes passed in silence as Blanche sat alone in the office, looking around, studying the room. It was a tidy and light place; a vase with orange lilies was standing on the windowsill. At some point Blanche realized she couldn't see a chair behind the desk, and bending down to look under the desk, she saw it lying on its side. The doctor must have really been in a rush. The clock on the wall filled the empty silence with its constant quiet ticking. Blanche began to feel restless, her hands clasping at the fabric of her dress nervously.

It must have been at least twenty if not thirty minutes until something disrupted Blanche's idly wandering train of thought. And the disruption came through the office door with such haste, shattering the brooding silence with such undue vigour that Blanche jumped in her chair most unbecomingly.

"I apologize, Miss, for having you wait for so long," the man who'd entered said apologetically as he made his way over to the desk. He picked up his chair, set it down and took a seat, all the while keeping his piercing eyes fixed on Blanche. "My assistance was needed with a patient."

Dr. Brown was a tall and well-built man in his forties, with creamy blonde hair and impressive bushy eyebrows. Now that he was calmer and Blanche had a better chance to look at him, she realized there was actually a certain kindness in his chestnut-brown eyes. The hardened features and a few lines in his face must have been the result of his work in a facility like this one. All in all, Blanche's sour opinion of the man changed immediately.

And while Blanche took a moment to analyse him, Dr. Brown got a chance to study the woman before him as well. "You must be Miss Blanche Hudson," he presumed, reaching out his hand towards her. "Dr. Brown," he introduced himself, at which Blanche nodded and accepted his handshake.

"It's nice to meet you," she replied with the beginning of a smile on her face. "I hope he is all right now." She nearly chuckled at the dumbfounded look on the doctor's face.

"Who?"

"The patient you were seeing," Blanche explained, gaining a small laugh from the doctor.

"Oh, yes," he said in understanding. "She is okay now."

"Good," Blanche replied automatically. But after a beat she realized with sudden dread that it was time for her to talk about why she had come. And for some odd reason it felt almost like an impossible task. How could she even start to ask what she wanted to know? How could she discuss Jane while she still felt so awfully guilty about everything that had become of her? Feeling absurdly insecure, Blanche lowered her gaze to the desk and focused her eyes on the pen that lay abandoned on a few sheets of paper.

"The reason I've come, doctor," she began, irritatedly aware of the tremble in her voice, "is that… I… I wanted to…" But try as she might, not even if she'd have been able to speak properly, she wouldn't have known what to say, where to start. She let out a disappointed sigh. Knowing that the man at the other side of the desk was waiting patiently for her to continue didn't help one bit.

Luckily, Dr. Brown was not just a bit but a lot more understanding than his first impression on Blanche had led on. "You wanted to know how your sister was doing, isn't that it?" he offered kindly, gratified to see some of the helplessness begin to leave Blanche Hudson's face. "You wanted to know if she was well; if she was treated well; if, when, and how you could possibly help her yourself. Am I right?"

Blanche was forced to admit that he was indeed better at knowing people than sometimes they were themselves—a necessary quality in a doctor. "You are," she answered quietly, remembering to blink her eyes for she had begun staring at Dr. Brown as he'd spoken. "I would, indeed, like to know all that."

Dr. Brown nodded self-assuredly; of course, he'd known he'd struck a chord at presuming the woman's thoughts. "Well, Miss Hudson," he started, altering his tone to a formal one, "the thing of it is, your sister's condition is much more complicated than what you described when you committed her."

"I was forced to," Blanche blurted out in a sudden need to justify herself. Lowering her eyes again, she added more quietly, "There was nothing else to do."

"And it was a good thing you did, too," Dr. Brown reassured her. "She is better off here where we can help her than outside where she and others around her are not safe."

Blanche wanted to say something in Jane's defence, but there was truth in the doctor's words—harsh and solid truth that was so awfully painful to listen to. "So, how is she?" she asked carefully. There was absolutely no point whatsoever in dwelling on the past; what was done was done, and it could only have been for the better.

"Miss Hudson," Dr. Brown started grimly, drawing a deep breath, "we are doing the best we can for your sister. These things take time."

Blanche studied his troubled face with open curiosity.

"In this short time Miss Jane has been here, she hasn't made any significant progress. In cases like this it usually gets worse before it gets better. I'm sure you're familiar with what I'm talking about. All you really need to know right now, Miss Hudson, is that we're giving Miss Jane all the help she needs, and there is nothing for you to worry about. In fact, it would be, for all parties concerned, best if you didn't interfere at all for a while."

Whilst talking, Dr. Brown had leaned forward behind his desk, bringing his piercing eyes and the convincing look in them closer to Blanche's insecure face. He spoke in a cordial voice, which to some point made him quite successful in keeping his vis-à-vis calm as well. It took Blanche a long moment to stop nodding in silent understanding and realize the full meaning of the doctor's words. Once she did, however, her jaw dropped just so that it made her lips part in a stunned gasp. The soft breath of words left her a few seconds after she'd planned it to. "What are you saying, doctor?"

Dr. Brown continued with a compassionate expression, "I'm requesting that you try and forget about your sister for a while, and focus on your own life. That will give the both of you time to heal, especially you, Miss Hudson. There's no need to look at me like that; I read the papers. And as I was saying, it would also be good for Miss Jane to go through her treatment without any disturbing factors."

Blanche frowned in annoyance. "Am I a disturbing factor?"

"In this scenario, yes," the doctor replied firmly, untouched by the hurt in the woman's tone.

A short but unsettling—at least on Blanche's part—silence followed, and Blanche struggled to push the probably unintentional insult out of her mind. It was almost annoying that the doctor was so right about everything. She did need rest, and Jane was probably better off without her. But this was already the longest they'd been apart in all of their lives.

"How long are we talking about?" she soon asked, pulling herself together to not sound as miserable as she was feeling.

Dr. Brown fixed her with a resolute look. "At least five or six months. Maybe more. We will contact you when the time is right."

When the sound of the car pulling to a stop in the street reached Lynn's ears, the young woman fled from the kitchen, and fast as lightning yanked open the front door. Farther ahead, the taxi driver was already helping Blanche out of the car and into her wheel chair. Barefoot as she was, Lynn crossed the lawn and approached them.

Blanche caught a glimpse of her coming forward, so she dismissed the driver with a grateful nod, and turned in her chair to meet her maid's brilliant smile. "Hi, Lynn," she said warmly.

The young woman quickly took her place behind Blanche's wheel chair and began taking her to the house. Leaning closer to the actress's ear, she admitted trustingly, "It feels so wrong in the house without you."