I knew the tone.

At Sunday dinners, she used it when asking whether I had found anything useful to do.

She had slipped job advertisements beside my plate and told Daniel, while I was sitting there, that marriage required contributions from both people.

Daniel knew my work.

He also knew how often I had asked him to correct her.

Sometimes he did.

More often, he said she did not mean it the way it sounded.

Now she put the folder on the rolling tray beside my water cup.

The heading read Waiver of Parental Rights.

Yellow tabs marked places for my signature.

Leo’s name appeared on one page, Luna’s on another.

A visitor sticker on the corner carried the time 1:56 p.m.

“Sign the top one.

Leo will come home with us.