HIS BROKEN PLAYTHING
I nodded, pretending I wasn’t already overwhelmed.
Dr. Simons was sitting behind a large oak desk when I walked in, and the first thing I noticed was how kind her smile looked the moment our gaze met. She had short, silver-streaked hair that was neatly styled, and her glasses perched delicately on her nose. Her hazel eyes were warm and there was this genuine sweetness about her, like she truly cared.
“Miss Harrison, please have a seat,”
She said, gesturing to the chair across from her.
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