Doors

[Locked to Luke H]
[During this.] I hate Adam. Je le déteste. A lot.

[A week after this, in the middle of Ella's daughter being missing. Night creeping into morning. The drawing is charcoal, wide swipes of grey that form a rumpled bed with delicate lines picking out a dark-haired woman, her naked back to the viewer as she sleeps. Down in the corner, in light pencil:]

She doesn't care either. But I didn't expect her to.