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

Enough.

I was Oliver’s biological aunt.

Julian hugged me.

Melissa cried despite her professional composure.

Ivy—no, wrong family, and Oliver would have hated that kind of confusion.

Oliver simply asked:

“So I don’t have to leave?”

Melissa answered before I could.