In the waiting area, I could barely hold the paper cup of water steady.

When Laura entered, she stopped just inside the doorway.

Her hair was dark, her face older than in the portraits I kept, and the small birthmark near her collarbone still looked like a crescent moon.

She wore a plain gray blouse and no jewelry.

That detail struck me because as a teenager she’d loved bright bracelets, wearing several at once until Eleanor joked that the kitchen could hear her coming.

“Dad,” she said.