Eralia’s POV
I’m shown to a small room containing a coffee table and two chairs, all of which are bolted to the concrete floor. The orderly who escorted me here offers me a drink; I decline with a silent shake of my head, which his acknowledges before he retreats, leaving me by myself.
I glance around the space. It is a sterile white, smelling of pine fresh polish and a lingering sense of despair. I head toward the furniture, choosing the chair to the right so I can keep a direct eye on the door. I wait, twisting my fingers in my lap for five long minutes before the door finally swings open again.
The same orderly who escorted me here steps inside, he holds the door wide, moving out of the way as my mother shuffles in behind him.
I swallow a gasp as I stare at her in shock. She’s dress
