In Hillridge Estate, silence had a price.
The kind of silence you buy when you have money, guards, and walls thick enough to keep the world out.
But for Catherine Sloan, the silence didn’t mean peace.
It meant she had to hear her own suffering more clearly.
For weeks, she didn’t sleep.
Not real sleep.
Just short, shallow collapses between waves of pain that made even morphine look like a joke.
Her son Leonard could purchase anything.
Specialists.
Private nurses.
Machines that hummed like tiny watchdogs beside her bed.
But every night, the same thing returned.
A crushing pressure behind her right temple.
Like something heavy was sitting on her skull from the inside.
And then one night, a woman with a mop bucket stopped in the doorway… and didn’t look away.
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