OLIVIA
The car rolled to a stop in front of the facility. A guard escorted me through, badge scanned, paperwork signed. The smell of institutional bleach and stale coffee clung to everything.
Then they brought me to my father.
He looked tired and worn. There were deep lines under his eyes and a grayness to his skin that had not been there three days ago. But when he saw me, he stood a little straighter and smiled even.
"Olivia," he said softly.
I took the seat across from him, gripping the edge of the metal table. "Hi, Dad."
He reached across, his fingers brushing mine. "You look like your mother when you are worried."
I laughed, but it came out shaky. "Then I must look exactly like her today."
He smiled again, but it did not reach his eyes. "You did not have to come, sweetheart."
"Yes, I did." I swallowed, then looked directly at him. "Why didn't you tell me?"
His brow furrowed. "Tell you what?"
