The child held a yellow knitted blanket. My breath caught. The room seemed to fade away.

“Tessa?”

Sabrina smiled through her tears. “My real name was Sabrina.”

I looked from the photograph to the woman across from me. “You…”

“I was your foster daughter.”

The memories came rushing back all at once. The frightened little girl who arrived carrying nothing but a trash bag of clothes. The bedtime stories. The scraped knees.