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

Julian said nothing.

“He knew we were looking.”

“We don’t know that.”

“He changed his name.”

“That’s not proof he knew how long you searched.”

I hated Julian’s reasonable voice.

“I would’ve forgiven him.”

“Maybe he didn’t believe that.”