I entered Room 114 expecting to see a murderer. Instead, I saw a child.
He was seated in the desk chair, hands neatly folded in his lap. Though his feet
hung above the floor, he kept them still and silent. He looked to be about seven years old.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie,” I said breezily. I shuffled the stack of papers in my left
hand to check where my one o’clock appointment was supposed to be. “Didn’t mean to interrupt you. My name is Andrea Sutton, I’m one of the counselors here.”