When the Eight-Year-Old Boy We Were Adopting Came Home With Everything He Owned in a Black Bag—Then My Missing Brother’s Watch Fell Onto His Bed

A stuffed bear whose fur had been rubbed nearly flat.

I picked up the bear carefully.

One eye had been replaced with a black button.

I set it beside Oliver’s pillow.

Then I folded the clothes.

No sentimental inspection.

They were his belongings.

I was trying not to treat them like evidence.