Every door we passed was half-open, revealing glimpses of quiet rooms and silent residents.

We reached Room 104.

The door was painted a dull beige.

There was no nameplate on the wall.

I reached out, my hand trembling as my fingers brushed the cold brass handle.

I paused, looking back at Claire, who gave me a tight nod.

I turned the handle and pushed the door open.

The room was dark, lit only by the grey light filtering through the window.

A small figure lay in the bed, propped up by two flat pillows.

I stepped inside, my heart stopping as the light caught her face.

The woman in the bed turned her head slowly toward the door.

Her eyes, wide and clear, met mine.

Just then, a phone on the bedside table began to ring loudly.

The screen lit up with the caller ID.

It was my father’s name.

The phone buzzed and chimed on the nightstand, vibrating against the cheap faux-wood laminate.

“Richard” glared at me from the glowing screen.

I reached out and pressed the volume button on the side to silence the ringer.