I looked up and spotted an elderly couple slowly making their way inside, hand in hand, their faces etched with worry.

The desk officer began to stand, but I got there first. “Mr. Randall, Mrs. Randall.”

They turned toward me, startled. Mrs. Randall’s face softened for a fleeting moment, a flicker of joy breaking through her tension. “Ada…” she began.

“She’s not Ada,” Mr. Randall interrupted gently, pulling his wife back. His voice ...