Kenneth stopped beside me.
“Kirsten,” he said. “I’m sorry to come here.”
Connor found his voice. “What is this?”
Kenneth looked at him only briefly. “Mr. Fleming.”
There was no warmth in the greeting.
Melinda remained kneeling on the floor, her hands pressed flat against her thighs, her face pale beneath the soft hospital lights. She looked at Kenneth with recognition, but not surprise. That was what struck me first.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
As if she had been waiting for him to appear.
As if she had spent a long time fearing this exact hallway, this exact moment, this exact sealed folder.
“Melinda,” Kenneth said.
Her eyes filled, but she blinked the tears away. “I didn’t know she worked this wing today.”
Connor’s head snapped toward her. “What are you talking about?”
