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

When the copying finished, I heard a floorboard above me.

I removed the drive and put it in my pocket.

The basement door opened.

“Sarah?”

Mark stood at the top of the stairs, looking down into the dim room.

“What are you doing down there?”

“I couldn’t sleep.

I was looking for the Christmas photo album.”