Watson covered his mouth.

I took the letter back and forced myself to continue.

“I didn’t believe that at first.

Then I found papers with your signatures. I don’t know if you gave me away or if someone made that choice for you. But I need the truth before I spend the rest of my life hating the wrong person.

I found your address in a locked folder my adoptive parents kept with my bracelet, placement papers, and your signed forms.”

I stared at Watson.

“I didn’t give him away.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve crawled through fire for him.”

“I know, Dawn.”

“Then why does he have our signatures?”

Watson looked toward the box.

“What else is in there?”

I pulled out a photocopied form.

At first, the words blurred together.

Medical release.

Placement.

Best interest.

Extended care.

At the bottom was my signature.

Thin.

Uneven.