Inside Consultation Room Three, the light was softer. There was a small round table, four chairs, a box of tissues, a wall-mounted hand sanitizer dispenser, and a mural of a sleepy moon holding a star. I had given difficult news in rooms like this. I had watched parents fall apart in rooms like this. I had learned that truth, no matter how gently offered, always changed the air.
Kenneth closed the door.
The click sounded final.
Connor remained standing. “Start talking.”
“Sit down,” Kenneth said.
“I’m not your client.”
“No,” Kenneth replied. “But your son is present.”
That quiet sentence did what anger would not have done.
Connor glanced at the baby and sat.
Melinda took the chair farthest from him.
I noticed.
Connor noticed too.
His eyes narrowed.
Kenneth placed the sealed folder on the table but did not open it immediately. He looked at me first.
“Kirsten, before I say anything else, I need to remind you that some of this may be upsetting.”
