She taught me how to leave a room

I'm in the old clinic hallway and my patient from 1987 is standing at the far end, wearing her yellow coat, the one she had on at her last appointment. She doesn't speak. She just turns and walks through the wall, and I understand she's showing me that leaving isn't an exit—it's a different way of staying. I woke up before I could ask her if the crack in my favorite mug has the same geometry.