Details de-identified and changed for confidentiality. Any details that match real people and events are purely coincidental.

---

It was too loud in your cubicle so we suggested the interview rooms. It would be quieter there, we said, away from the chaos. You reluctantly agreed. Your nurse stared at us as we walked, and screams followed us from the cubicle next door.

Interview room 1 was taken when we knocked – another shrink, another patient. We bowed our heads in apology. Our shrink knocked on interview room 2 and gave us the thumbs up. In we went, the portal to a sacred space.

The room had three couches and we each took one. The shrink took the largest one and you offered me the one in the corner, leaving you with the smallest. We sat for a moment, mutually understanding the moment’s tenderness.

The triage notes already told us your story: recent behavioural disturbances, an attempt of suicide. Police thought you were psychotic – perhaps you did too. It was our job to confirm this. Your version of events was what we needed to hear.

You knew we knew this already and decided to help us understand.

You took us to the events leading up to this: the break-up, the trauma, the betrayals. As you spoke, your heart broke, and ours ached with you. Your last few weeks had enough suffering to fill a whole lifetime. There was meaning to your madness, you said. I believed you.

Outside, floating clouds shielded the sun, painting the hospital a light grey.

We talked for two hours, the three of us. The shrink was asking you questions, using your responses to decide if you were fit to return home. You played along beautifully. You showed insight and judgment in your account, and when you did, the shrink would hum and nod in approval.

If it were me, I would have let you go right then, but the shrink asked a few final questions and these seemed to make you falter. You began to contradict yourself and made vague, concerning statements. Things you weren’t saying before, and things a normal person wouldn’t say. The shrink frowned at his notes and I felt hope slipping away. Calm tides were shifting.

I prayed you would stop, but it was too late. In the end, the police had a right to be worried. You had proven this at the very end. We had no choice but to enforce a treatment order.

Breaking the news broke my heart. You didn’t want an admission – who does? – but we were compelled to. You called us devils, saying we had no right to do this. You were probably right. We are devils at the worst of times, and a fallen system at the best. People like you deserve angels.

Outside the clouds parted, and the sun scorched the gravel leading to your prison.