Touch My Daughter Againn

The fist did not rise high.

That was what made it worse.

Cassandra did not look out of control. She looked practiced. Her hand lifted just above Nora's shoulder, close enough to make the younger woman shrink against the pillows, far enough to pretend later that nothing had happened.

"You think a hospital bed makes you untouchable?" Cassandra asked.

Nora's breath caught under the oxygen tube. The plastic shifted against her skin. She could smell linen, antiseptic, and Cassandra's perfume pressing into the room like another hand.

Oliver stepped back.

Nora saw it. So did Cassandra.

That small surrender fed the older woman more than any insult could have.

"Look at him," Cassandra said. "He can barely stand to look at you. Do you know why? Because you embarrass him."

Nora's eyes filled, but she did not let the tears fall yet. She had cried too much in front of people who used tears as proof of weakness.

"I called my father," she said.

Cassandra paused.

Oliver looked up quickly. Fear crossed his face, but it was not fear for Nora.

"You did what?" he asked.

Nora's voice shook. "Before they gave me the sedative. I called Dad."

Cassandra laughed once, sharp and ugly. "Your father? The ex-soldier with the dirty jacket? Let him come. He can stand in reception and be impressed by the carpet."

Nora finally looked at her.

"He will not be impressed by you."

The slap was not delivered. The threat of it hung instead, heavier than contact.

Cassandra bent over the bed, face tightening, fist still hovering in the air.

"Listen to me very carefully," she said. "If you cause trouble for this family, I will make sure every doctor, every friend, every employer you ever meet hears that you are unstable."

Behind the glass, a shape moved fast through the corridor.