The nurse’s warning whispered in my ear still haunted me: “Ask your son what happened at 3:00 AM.” Moments later, I eavesdropped on his panicked phone call on the fire escape: “If the police find out, we’re ruined.” My hands shook as I unlocked his briefcase in his office. The horrific adoption contract inside changed everything…

closed door of Room 412, then back to my face. The friendly professionalism vanished, replaced by a raw, naked panic.

She took a quick step toward me, closing the distance between us until I could smell the peppermint gum on her breath.

“Take this,” she hissed, her voice barely a breath.

Before I could react, she shoved a small, crumpled piece of paper continue reading …