The waiting room in Dr. Beltin’s office was quite nice: comfortable chairs, white wainscot on the cream-coloured walls, plenty of sunlight coming through the skinny, rectangular windows. He even had some kind of miniature tree growing out of a pot in the corner. And that was to say nothing of the reception desk.
Carved from polished wood with rounded edges and no corners, it supported a vase full of colourful flowers. Like everything else in the room, it was painted white. The good doctor had gone out of his way to put his patients at ease. The décor all but screamed, “You are safe here.”
Desa didn’t like it.
Standing just inside the door in dungarees and a long, brown coat, she slipped her hands into her pockets and tried not to frown as she studied the art on the walls. She was a tiny
