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

My voice came out too sharp.

Oliver stepped backward.

I immediately regretted it.

“I’m sorry.”

I sat on the edge of the bed.

“You’re not in trouble.”

His fingers tightened around the glass.

“That’s mine.”