Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

neat rows under the hum of the fluorescent lights. Chloe was not at the reception desk, which left only a stack of blank sign-in sheets resting on the counter.

I walked down the narrow hallway to the third examination room, where Dr. Clara Sullivan was already waiting.

She sat behind her mahogany desk, her hands folded neatly on the polished wood. She continue reading …