Chel hurried down a hallway, hoping she was choosing the one that led to her room. Victor was about to follow when he felt a hand on his arm, tightening into a firm grip. He turned to look down at his wife, giving him a stern look.
“Vic, plase stop doing that.” Mel whispered, pulling him toward an open door.
“I’m having a hard time dealing with this,” whispered Vic, his eyes locked on the vanishing form of his daughter.
“Chel makes good decisions.” Mel wrapped her arms around one of Vic’s and leaned toward the door so they could talk without anyone overhearing them.