Minutes later, Parvaneh comes back down the corridor to the waiting room.
She stops, confusedly scanning the room from side to side.
“Are you looking for your girls?” a nurse asks sharply behind her. “Yes,” Parvaneh answers, perplexed.
“There,” says the nurse in a not entirely appreciative way and points at a bench by the large glass doors leading onto the parking area.
Ove is sitting there with his arms crossed, looking very angry.
On one side of him sits the seven-year-old, staring up at the ceiling with an utterly bored expression,
and on the other side sits the three-year-old, looking as if she just found out
she’s going to have an ice cream breakfast every day for a whole month.
On either side of the bench stand two particularly large representatives of the hospital’s security guards, both with very grim facial expressions.
“Are these your children?” one of them asks. He doesn’t look at all as if he’s having an ice cream breakfast.
“Yes, what did they do?” Parvaneh wonders, almost terrified.
“They didn’t do anything,” the other security guard replies, with a hostile stare at Ove.
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