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

Our paths crossed.

Coincidence.

An extraordinary one.

But coincidence does not reduce meaning.

Sometimes people want destiny because coincidence feels too random.

I came to prefer random.

Because if David orchestrated everything, then Oliver risks becoming his final message to me.

A delivery.