“Evelyn,” she said, “I want you to know that if I had believed for one second that his mother wanted him and was being lied to, I would never have gone through with it.”

“I believe you,” I answered, though I had barely begun to understand any of this.

Peter spread documents across the coffee table.

There was a handwritten letter from an adoption facilitator, payment receipts, and a placement agreement naming Austin as Baby B, with identifying information partly redacted.

“We were told his mother had agreed to an independent placement,” Peter said.

“She’d signed consent after delivery, according to the facilitator.”