Fiona
I stood alone in the dimly lit hall. The door to the left is the guidance counselor's office.
It was my last year at the boarding school, so I had come here to collect some paperwork for a college application.
I took a deep breath, my hand trembling slightly as I raised it to knock on the guidance counselor's office door. With a swift, determined knock, I waited for a response.
"Come in," a voice called from within the office. Her name was Mrs. Anderson. Her warm smile and comforting demeanor usually put me at ease, but today, an undercurrent of unease prickled at the back of my mind.
I turned the doorknob and stepped inside, greeted by the soft glow of her desk lamp and the neat stacks of paperwork that adorned her desk. As I walked toward her, her gaze lifted from her work, an
