Chapter 1

Five years ago, my best friend Rosemary Pruitt and I had a fight, and she locked me—three months pregnant—in a hotel walk-in freezer.

She told me to calm down for ten minutes.

When the door opened again, the baby was gone. And I could never be alone in any enclosed space again.

Five years later, Rosemary became the captain of the rescue team.

She knelt in front of me and cried, saying she wanted to atone and help me get past my trauma.

She lured me back to that hotel, and then pushed me into the walk-in freezer again.

I screamed for all I was worth, but she told my husband, "Don't open it. We're saving her."

My mother cried and tried to pull the door open, but Rosemary stopped her too.

"Just hold on ten more minutes. It's all for her own good."

Then I passed out.

But Rosemary smiled.

"See? She's finally better."

…

When the door of the walk-in freezer opened, I was sitting on the floor, barely alive.

From everyone's point of view, I really was "fine."

But the moment that door shut, I went right back to five years ago.

I remember how long I pounded on it, and I remember that in the end my voice was gone. I kept telling them I couldn't take it, kept begging them to open the door, but every time, someone outside answered me.

Rosemary said, "I'm right here."

Herbert said, "Sandra, hold on a little longer."

My mom cried and said, "Mom's here with you, don't be afraid."

Every one of them heard me. Not one of them opened the door.

My husband, Herbert, gripped my icy hand, his face lit with an excitement he couldn't hide. "Sandra, look at me. Do you know how long you were in there?"

"Eighteen minutes." Rosemary came in from behind him, her eyes already red. "For the first time in five years, you stayed in a completely closed room for eighteen minutes, and you didn't keep losing control afterward."

I looked up at her.

She crouched down and lowered her voice. "When you first went in, your heart rate was fast and your breathing was ragged, but in the end you calmed down on your own. Sandra, that's not a bad thing."

My mom immediately asked, "So she really is getting better?"

Rosemary took my other hand. "Five years ago, you didn't know when someone would open the door, or whether anyone was even out there. Today is different. We were here the whole time."

I finally spoke, my voice badly hoarse. "But I told you to open the door."

Rosemary paused.

Herbert explained for her, "If we open the door every time you call for a stop, then the training means nothing."

I looked at him.

Five years ago, after I woke up in the hospital, I didn't even dare go into the bathroom in my hospital room.

Herbert took the lock off our bathroom door at home. The bedroom door hadn't been fully closed in five years. Even every time we stayed at a hotel, he'd check first that the door could be opened easily from the inside.

Back then he said, "Whenever you feel like you can close it, we'll close it."

My mom must have seen something wrong in my face, because she knelt down at once and hugged me.

"Mom was scared to death just now too. But you really got through it. And after you came out, you didn't shake or gasp for breath like before. Doesn't that mean Rosemary's method really works?"

As she spoke, she started to cry.

"For five years, you couldn't even bear to shut the door at night. Herbert and I were afraid every day that we'd say the wrong thing and make you remember it all over again. Today, for the first time, Mom feels like you really might get better."

They mistook my exhaustion for improvement.

Rosemary wiped away her tears and suddenly stood up. "Since we've gotten through this today, come with us tonight—to the awards ceremony."

My head snapped up.

It was as if she'd known all along I'd refuse, and she explained right away.

"It's in the banquet hall upstairs. Not in the refrigerated area, and there won't be any forced training. Tonight the Rescue Association is giving out its annual awards to a few of the team members. I just hope you can sit there and see that this hotel isn't only that one memory from five years ago anymore."

Before I could say anything, Herbert was already murmuring to me, "We're already here. Just sit for a while. If you don't feel well, we can leave anytime."

I looked at him.

"Leave anytime?"

He froze.

He probably heard, too, just how ridiculous those two words sounded now.