The little room held a round laminate table with three vinyl chairs around it.

A box of tissues sat in the exact center.

The nurse went out, and the heavy door clicked shut.

I sat in the chair facing the door and pressed my palms flat on my knees.

The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed with a low, steady hum.

The handle turned, and a woman came in carrying a yellow clipboard.

“I’m Denise,” she said.

She drew out the chair opposite me and sat.