“Our daughter hasn’t stopped crying for days,” he explained. “She barely sleeps, hardly eats, and keeps saying she has to talk to the police. She says she did something very bad and needs to confess.”
He rubbed his forehead wearily.
“At first we thought it was just a phase, but it keeps getting worse. We didn’t know what else to do.”
The receptionist leaned back slightly in surprise.
“You’re saying she wants to confess to something?” he asked, glancing down at the little girl.
Before he could continue, a nearby officer slowed his steps after overhearing the conversation.
He was a calm-looking man in his thirties with a patient expression. His name tag read Garcia.
“I’ve got a few minutes,” Officer Garcia said, walking over and crouching so he was at the child’s level. “What seems to be the problem?”
The parents immediately looked relieved.
“Thank you,” the father said quickly. “Sweetheart, remember the police officer we talked about? This is him. You can tell him what happened.”
The little girl sniffled and looked at the uniformed man carefully.
“Are you really a police officer?” she asked in a tiny voice.
Officer Garcia smiled warmly and pointed to the badge on his chest.