The women’s restroom at the end of the hallway was empty when I slipped inside. I locked a stall, pressed my back against the cold metal, and closed my eyes. The silence felt like mercy.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

But the air still carried her face — Mrs. Vale’s — like smoke that wouldn’t clear. I could almost hear the sharp click of her heels echoing down the corridor, that voice she used like a blade, cutting without effort or hesitation.

The way she’d once looked at me — like ...