“Good afternoon,” he said gently, folding his hands together on the counter. “How can we help you today.”
The father hesitated, clearing his throat as though the words were difficult to form. “We were hoping to speak with a police officer,” he said, keeping his voice low, as if afraid the walls themselves might overhear him.
The receptionist raised his eyebrows slightly. “May I ask what this is regarding.”
The mother glanced down at her daughter, who clutched the fabric of her coat with small trembling fingers, then looked back up with eyes full of worry. The father took a slow breath, clearly embarrassed but also desperate.
“Our daughter has been inconsolable for days,” he explained. “She cries all the time, barely eats, barely sleeps, and she keeps saying she needs to talk to the police. She says she did something very bad and needs to confess. We thought it was a phase at first, but it has not stopped, and we do not know what else to do.”
The receptionist leaned back slightly, surprised despite years of hearing unusual requests. “She wants to confess a crime,” he repeated, glancing at the small child.