I Was Told My Newborn Had Died—Then My Eight-Year-Old Son Asked Why Daddy Had Paid Aunt Rachel to Take the Crying Bundle

At dinner, he watched Mark more than he watched the television in the next room.

I noticed and made the wrong explanation because it was the explanation everyone had given me.

He missed his sister.

Then I noticed a glass jar on his dresser.

Coins.

Crumpled dollar bills.

A little folded stack beneath them.

Each day, there seemed to be more.