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
Maybe another man bought the watch.
Maybe David sold it.
Maybe it had been stolen.
“Daniel what?”
“Reed.”
I knew from Oliver’s file that his father had been Daniel Reed.
Dead two years earlier.
His mother, Sarah Reed, had died before him.
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