“I’m looking for someone.”
“Of course. May I have the resident’s name?”
I swallowed.
“Melissa Brooks.”
The receptionist’s expression changed slightly.
Not suspicion.
Professional caution.
“And you are?”
“Her father.”
She studied me for a second.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t confirm information about residents without authorization.”
“I saw her.”
“I understand.”
“My daughter died seven years ago.”
The woman’s face softened.
“I’m very sorry.”
“No.” I gripped the edge of the desk. “You don’t understand. I just saw her walking through those doors.”
Before the receptionist could answer, another voice came from behind me.
“Dad?”
Everything inside me stopped.
I turned.
Melissa stood perhaps fifteen feet away.
She had changed clothes, exchanging the light jacket for a blue cardigan. A woman wearing a Havenwood identification badge stood beside her.
Melissa looked at me as though she were staring at something from a dream she had nearly forgotten.
