I wanted to walk in and see the child that nineteen families had turned away.

The placement center was a low brick building on the edge of town, clean and institutional and quiet in the particular way that such places are quiet.

I gave my name at the desk and said I was there to inquire about a child, and the woman behind the desk looked at me with the mild, guarded patience of someone who has learned not to expect much from unannounced men, and asked me to wait.

So I waited.