A receptionist sat behind a high desk, her name tag identifying her as Melissa. She looked to be in her late thirties, her dark brown hair pulled into a tight bun, her expression indifferent as she tapped away at her computer. I approached, swallowing the dryness in my throat.
"Good morning," I greeted, my voice coming out smoother than I felt.
She barely spared me a glance. "How can I help you?"
I guess I wasn't so popular after all. I hesitated for half a second, then forced the words out. "I'm here for some records. I need to confirm if someone completed their therapy sessions."
Melissa finally looked up, her brows pulling together. "Are you a relative?"
I straightened my shoulders. "Yes."
She gave me a tight-lipped smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I'm sorry, but we don't release patient records to family members without proper authorization. It's against hospital policy."
