The Photograph of a Newborn in a Yellow Knitted Hat

“I’m sorry, but without his direct authorization or a court order, nobody’s touching that box.”

I folded the yellow paper and slid it into my purse.

By noon I was sitting across from Arthur in his law office.

It was wedged into a brick strip mall between a dry cleaner and an empty bakery.

The radiator hissed loudly in the corner of the room.

I took the folded denial form out of my purse and laid it flat on his wooden desk.

Arthur took a cloth napkin from his drawer and began polishing his thick glasses in slow circles.