A guard in a dark blue uniform stepped out of the booth as my SUV approached.

I rolled down my window.

“Mark Collins,” I said. “Clara is expecting us.”

The guard checked his clipboard, then looked at the children in the back seat.

He pressed a button, and the heavy iron gates swung inward.

I drove down the paved driveway and parked in the rear lot.

Clara was waiting at the glass double doors of the south wing.

She wore a warm cardigan and had her grey hair pulled back in a neat bun.

“Come in, quickly,” Clara said as we stepped out of the car.

The children walked into the lobby, looking around at the colorful paintings and the soft leather couches.

It looked like a hotel, not a shelter.

“We have food in the kitchen,” Clara said to the kids. “Who wants some warm cookies?”

Lily and Toby raised their hands.

Clara led Hannah and the children down the hall toward the residential suites.

I stood in the quiet lobby, the weight of the last three hours finally settling on my shoulders.