A rubber-banded stack, one page labeled confidential, another carrying the name of a private family services firm.

“Can you find that box?” I asked.

“Before you’re discharged, if you promise not to try climbing out of this bed.”

I promised.

But that night, after the lights went low, I lay awake thinking about the line in the forged letter: Please do not attempt to locate me.

Someone had not only taken my son.

Someone had worked to make sure neither of us would find the other.

PART 6