“I know what I sound like,” she said.

“I know exactly what I sound like.”

“You sound like somebody who got lied to.”

I turned to the second yellow tab.

It held a page of clauses, every one of them about Sophie and none about me.

Paragraph nine said the birth mother agrees to no contact with the child until the child turns eighteen.

I read it out loud.

“That’s the one that got me,” she said.