QUEEN heard the soft shuffle of feet behind the door, hesitant, wary, almost childlike. She held her breath, her hand pressed lightly against the doorframe as she strained to catch any sign that Orlanda really would open up this time.

When the lock finally clicked and the door eased inward, Queen’s carefully painted smile flickered with true relief. But her relief froze at the sight before her, the figure standing there like a trapped dove in a broken cage.

Orlanda stood barefoot on the cold floor, her thin house dress, simple cotton, pale blue, brushing her knees. Her long, dark hair was parted down the middle, falling in soft, slightly...