The sign on the door said No Visitors.It was supposed to keep the residents safe.It kept them invisible instead.John Anderson arrived at Mercy Oaks Memory Care on a Tuesday. He came in as a caretaker. He came in watching. Eleven days was long enough to learn where the floor was soft. It was not long enough to know where it would give way.Behind locked unit doors, the residents of Mercy Oaks had become unreachable. No families. No witnesses. No one to notice a soaked brief left too long, a flinch at the wrong footstep, a woman who pressed her forehead to cold glass every afternoon and waited for a daughter who no longer came.What John found inside those halls—and what he chose to do about it—would cost him a name, a room, and nearly everything else.No Visitors is a novel about the people who stay. The aides who are drowning and show up anyway. The nurses who wash their hands until the knuckles split. The residents who have lost the words to report what is being done to them, and whose bodies report it anyway. And one man who learned, a long time ago, that safety is not a sign on a door.

The sign on the door said No Visitors.It was supposed to keep the residents safe.It kept them invisible instead.John Anderson arrived at Mercy Oaks Memory Care on a Tuesday. He came in as a caretaker. He came in watching. Eleven days was long enough to learn where the floor was soft. It was not long enough to know where it would give way.Behind locked unit doors, the residents of Mercy Oaks had become unreachable. No families. No witnesses. No one to notice a soaked brief left too long, a flinch at the wrong footstep, a woman who pressed her forehead to cold glass every afternoon and waited for a daughter who no longer came.What John found inside those halls—and what he chose to do about it—would cost him a name, a room, and nearly everything else.No Visitors is a novel about the people who stay. The aides who are drowning and show up anyway. The nurses who wash their hands until the knuckles split. The residents who have lost the words to report what is being done to them, and whose bodies report it anyway. And one man who learned, a long time ago, that safety is not a sign on a door.

The sign on the door said No Visitors.It was supposed to keep the residents safe.It kept them invisible instead.John Anderson arrived at Mercy Oaks Memory Care on a Tuesday. He came in as a caretaker. He came in watching. Eleven days was long enough to learn where the floor was soft. It was not long enough to know where it would give way.Behind locked unit doors, the residents of Mercy Oaks had become unreachable. No families. No witnesses. No one to notice a soaked brief left too long, a flinch at the wrong footstep, a woman who pressed her forehead to cold glass every afternoon and waited for a daughter who no longer came.What John found inside those halls—and what he chose to do about it—would cost him a name, a room, and nearly everything else.No Visitors is a novel about the people who stay. The aides who are drowning and show up anyway. The nurses who wash their hands until the knuckles split. The residents who have lost the words to report what is being done to them, and whose bodies report it anyway. And one man who learned, a long time ago, that safety is not a sign on a door.