Instead, I sat with both hands on the steering wheel.
Seven years.
Seven birthdays.
Seven Christmases.
Seven January transfers.
I had spoken to my daughter at her grave.
I had left flowers beside a stone carrying her name.
I had spent nights sitting alone in my kitchen wishing I could hear her call me Dad one more time.
And she had been forty minutes away.
I don’t know how long I sat there.
Eventually Calvin came outside alone.
He stood beside his SUV for a moment, rubbing his eyes before driving away.
I waited until his taillights disappeared.
Then I crossed the parking lot.
Inside, Havenwood looked nothing like the frightening institution my imagination had invented during those few minutes in the car. It was quiet and bright, with paintings of fields and lakes along the walls. A receptionist sat behind a curved desk.
“Can I help you?”
My voice almost failed me.
