Doctor Jefferson lowered his gaze.

“No.”

“Did you ask Watson?”

“No.”

“Then you never confirmed consent,” I said. “You had a grieving woman’s signature and my mother’s version of grief.”

He remained silent.

“I told myself Rowan needed a stable home.”

“He had one,” Watson said. “It was ours.”

I picked up the bracelet.

“I’m filing for every record. Every page. Every note. And then I’m filing complaints wherever I need to.”

Doctor Jefferson nodded.

“No,” I said. “You don’t understand. But you will.”

Watson looked at him.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t know now,” the doctor said. “The couple moved years ago.”

I raised the photograph.

“He found us first.”

When we returned home, the birthday party was still going.

Riley and Rex were laughing somewhere in the backyard.

My mother’s car was parked near the curb.

Watson reached for my hand.