So it was her father. Petty and cowardly. He couldn't afford to keep paying for Isabel's silence, so he pushed the burden onto Heather. Typical of him.
"How much?" she asked flatly.
The doctor mentioned the bill. Heather barely flinched. Money wasn't the issue. The number meant nothing compared to the weight of what she had just learned. She wanted only one thing.
"I'll cover it. But I want to see her."
Dr. Bill nodded and stood. He guided her out of the office and into the elevator. The ride felt endless. Her pulse hammered against her ribs as the numbers blinked down. After all these years, what will she even look like? Will she know me? Will she even remember her own name?
The doors slid open with a sharp ding. A narrow corridor stretched out before them, lined with heavy doors and blinking security panels. Bill tapped a code into one of the panels, and the doors buzzed and slid open.
