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arrived. She didn’t know what she had been expecting, but she knew she hadn’t expected what she was seeing. She pulled into the asphalt parking lot and turned the engine off, wondering if she’d been given the wrong address.
    A flat-roofed brick building, which at one time might have been an old school building or a county government facility, was surrounded by a tall wire fence. There were no swings in the side yard, no merry-go-rounds, no type of equipment that would indicate children lived here. Her heart sank. This picture certainly did not match the one she saw on the Internet. Thinking it was possible the Web site designers had gone a bit overboard when they’d created the Web site, in hopes of luring potential parents, Melanie walked down a cracked sidewalk that led to a steel door with faded black and gold letters that read OFFICE. She looked at her watch. She was a few minutes early. Not knowing if she should knock on the door or simply step inside, Melanie went with her gut and opened the door.
    Melanie stepped inside to a dimly lit reception area. A grayish green metal desk, clear of the usual clutter, with a sturdy wooden chair tucked beneath it stood in the center of the room. Behind the desk on the wall facing her were several tall gray metal filing cabinets. She looked to her left and right in hopes of finding another desk, maybe a desk with a computer on it, but saw nothing except for a few small wooden chairs pushed up against the wall. It was obvious the chairs were for children, not guests.
    As Melanie was about to wander down the long hallway to her left, she heard the click-clack of heels coming from the opposite end of the hall. She remained in place, smoothed any imaginary wrinkles from her jeans, and took a deep breath. It was now or never. Exhaling as she’d been taught in her yoga class, she let her breath out slowly. She watched the tall figure make her way down the dark hallway toward the front reception area.
    Where were all the children? she wondered. Surely they were up and about by now. But then she realized that they had probably already left for school.
    In the same nasally accented voice she’d heard on the phone, the tall figure called out as she made her way over to the desk. “You must be Mrs. McLaughlin.”
    She was the exact image that her voice and manner projected over the telephone. Sturdily built, steel gray hair pulled back in a bun so tight her eyes were pulled upward. She wore a brown wool suit, thick stockings, and ugly black shoes with large square heels. It was the sort of outfit that brought to mind a warden in a medium-security prison for women. “Well, are you going to answer me or not?” she asked.
    “Yes, I’m she ... I am Melanie McLaughlin.”
    “Follow me,” the still-unnamed woman said.
    Melanie did as instructed. She traveled the length of the dark hallway, the woman’s broad back blocking her view of what lay beyond. At the end of the hall was a small office, this one a bit more personal. There was a wooden desk with a banker’s lamp placed to her right. And two matching chairs, both of which might have been light blue at one time but were now as gray as the rest of the surroundings, were placed on the opposite side of the desk.
    The woman walked around and slid her chair from beneath the desk. She sat down, rifled through a stack of papers on her desk, then gave Melanie a nod, indicating she should sit.
    “You have all of your paperwork in order?” the woman said flatly, her voice displaying not the slightest bit of emotion. Melanie was beginning to regret her choice of adoption agencies. This woman was simply rude—not having bothered even to introduce herself.
    She placed the file folder of papers she’d brought, along with her passport, on the desk. “I think so. I brought along a few extra things.” The woman stared at her as though she could see right through her. “Just in case,” Melanie added in a small voice.
    “You think? If