“Johnson.â€? The voice called through speakers high upon the walls. A frail woman, grasping tightly to a wad of abused tissue, stood and walked with deliberate trepidation across the cold tile floor of the psych ward. The woman at the front desk, Mary according to the name plate, forced an insincere smile onto a face that had seen too many tears to ever express true happiness again.

“I’m Mrs. Johnson.â€? The old lady sniffled, touching the tissue to her nose.

“Doctor Barnes would like to speak with you. Please go through those doors to your right to room 3.â€?

Pushing through the doors, she could see a man, wearing a white lab coat standing in the doorway to room 3. “Mrs. Johnson, please come in. Have a seat.â€?

“We’ve tried everything we can, but your son simply does not seem to respond in any coherent manner. I’m afraid, that for his own safety, and the safety of others, we’ll have to keep him here for the remainder of his life.â€?

Tissue firmly grasped, the woman began to sob. “No.â€? A whisper through the tears.