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…

I pressed, framing it as a grandmother’s harmless excitement, he deflected. He would text me images of an empty crib, folded pastel clothes, tiny socks that looked too small to hold a human foot.

Once, I asked him directly to send me a photograph of Nora. Just her face, I promised. Just to see her glow.

After a heavy, suffocating pause, he claimed she continue reading …