text: Deft hands riffled through the filing cabinet. She always hated this part - it was never where she needed it to be. Margaret slammed a drawer shut to search another. She grimaced at the bare decor and studied the vanilla blinds. The chairs were cheap and worn, and the walls wore bland art. Dirt eroded the low-pile carpet in a maze-like pattern. She hated the place. Disgust renewed her motivation to get the hell out. She’d been in too long already. “Mrs. Sanford, please sit down.” It was barely a whisper, but it was enough to break her mental barrier. The scene flooded in. Lights flickered on and a man in a white coat appeared. He waited. Margaret struggled against the memory. It was fruitless - the chair met her backside before she realized she was complying. “Your results have come in and I’m afraid it isn’t looking good. I’ve consulted with a colleague and they agree with me. You need to get the treatment or this cancer is going to kill you.” The doctor’s voice was calm and level despite the sweat on his brow. “I’ve survived this long without it, doc. I don’t want the treatment. I don’t want to raise my daughter while weak and sick.” Margaret raised her hand to her throat. She no longer had control. “Marge. Please. You could live a long and happy life with James and your daughter. I know you don’t want to seem weak, but this is not something that makes you weak. It takes great strength to decide to get treatment. It’s not easy. Do it for them.” Her jaw clenched, teeth grinding hard on one another. Still, the words spilled out. “They are the very reason I’m *not* doing it. Trust me, doc, they don’t want me like that either.” She tried to resist. “And you don’t understand what I’d be giving up.” It was quiet, but he heard. “*Ma’am,* no disrespect to you, but I recognize exactly what you would be giving up. I see this every day. I see people die from this almost as frequently. I don’t want you to be one of them. I like you, Marge, please. Maybe just think about it? Talk it over with your husband again.” Mentally crossing her fingers, she lied. “Okay. Sure, doc.” The pressure that held her to the chair released and the lights flickered off again. She was finally free to resume her hunt. She popped up from the chair to search the desk. “Junk, junk, *junk.*” she grumbled. “Where *is* it?!” She toppled the clutter on Doctor Franklin’s desk with a sweeping motion. A clinking sound, metal against ceramic, caught her attention and she dove for the pile of knick-knacks on the floor. On her knees, she shuffled through the man’s belongings. “*Aha!*” The golden key was only one part of the equation, but she was *so close* to escaping. Whispers began anew. She fought to put her walls up, but she was growing weary. The memories sizzled at her barriers like mosquitoes on a bug zapper. Each hit made her more vulnerable. She shuffled toward the main door. “The most obvious solution, but why not try it?” She fumbled with the key in the office's entryway door lock. It didn’t fit. “Shit.” She turned toward the back door. “Lovely to see you, Marge!” the voice of a receptionist chirped at her. *Zap.* The door nearly met her face as she plowed into it, extending the key to the lock. “*Shit.*” “This way, Margie. I’ll get your gown,” a distant nurse echoed. *Zap.* “Guess we’re gonna have to do this the hard way.” Margaret set her stride at a brisk pace, key at the ready. She plugged it into each door she passed, hissing a curse at every failure. It was never where she needed it to be. Her eyes widened with realization. She made her way to the ladies’ restroom near the back of the office, pushed open the door, and grinned. Her eyes raised. *A window of opportunity, indeed.* She chuckled at her own joke as she tried the lock. *Click.* She used the sink to boost herself up and pushed through the window. “Oof.” The bedroom floor knocked the wind out of her as she landed. The sound of urgent footsteps echoed through the floorboards against her ear. Her husband appeared. Without a word, he weaved his arms through hers to lift her back to her bed. Once settled, he brushed her hair out of her face, hiding the clump that fell out. “Are you alright?” He looked her over. “Mmh.” “What happened? Was it another dream? Was it bad?” Margaret averted her eyes. They landed on the snow globe. “Mmh.” “My love, I know this is awful. I can see that you’re in so much pain, but...” he took her hand in his. “But I need you to talk to me.” She turned toward the window. *If only there was a key to that one, too.