Camilla's POV
The nurse guided us into a cramped office where a middle-aged doctor sat hunched over his desk. Papers scattered around a ceramic mug filled with what looked like forgotten coffee from this morning. When we stepped inside, his head snapped up from whatever he'd been scribbling, his tired eyes moving between me and Elsie with professional courtesy.
"Dr. Phil, your appointments are here," the nurse announced, her voice crisp and efficient.
He acknowledged her with a brief nod, then his gaze settled on me before drifting down to Elsie, whose small fingers were wrapped around mine. Something in his expression shifted, becoming warmer as he extended his hand toward the documents the nurse offered.
"They need the DNA ancestry testing," she clarified.
"Actually, just for my daughter," I interjected quickly, settling into the chair across from his cluttered desk and repositioning my purse. "I won't be participating."
