I followed him with the folder under my arm.
By 8:45, the living room table held the blue folder, my photograph of its cover, and a grocery receipt for 83.17 dollars that had been under the kitchen magnet for three days. Daniel came through the front door carrying his coat and set his keys in the bowl.
“What did she say?” I asked.
He sat down.
“She said it is just family paperwork.”
I opened the folder.
“That is what she told you?”
“Yes.”
“Did she explain the blank child’s name?”
“No.”
“Did she explain why my signature is on the page?”
“No.”
I turned the first sheet over.
“Did she say what happens if I refuse?”
Daniel looked at me.
“She said there is nothing to refuse.”
I placed the paper flat on the table.
“Then why is there a signature line?”
He rubbed his wedding ring
with his thumb.
“I should have asked.”
“You did ask.”
“I asked the wrong question.”
I looked at him.
“What question should you have asked?”
He took a long breath.
“Why does Mom think she gets to decide where our child belongs?”
I did not answer.
Daniel looked toward the stairs.
“She keeps talking about the Sterling family.”
“That is not the same as parental rights.”
“I know.”
He picked up the second page.
“What does temporary family arrangement mean?”
“It could mean several things.”
“Could it mean she wants to help?”
“Maybe.”
He looked relieved for half a second.
Then I turned to the final page.
There was a line for the name of the person receiving temporary care.
It was blank.
Daniel saw it.
“That was not blank before.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
He pointed at the page.
“I thought there was a name there.”
I checked
the photograph on my phone.
The same blank line appeared.
Daniel leaned closer to the screen.
“Then I was wrong.”
“Probably.”
He sat back.
“She said it was for family arrangements.”
“Yes.”
“She did not say whose arrangement.”
“No.”
He looked at the blue folder again.
“Elena, I should have stopped this earlier.”
I gathered the pages into exact stacks, first by page number, then by the order they had been placed in the folder.
“Do not fight with her tonight.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want the papers exactly as she gave them to you.”
He nodded.
I slid the blue folder into the locked drawer of my home office.
Daniel watched the drawer close, then his phone lit up with Vivian’s name.
The drawer clicked shut, and Daniel’s voice came from the office before I had taken three steps toward the stairs.
“Do you have Karen’s number?”
I stopped
with my hand still near the banister. “Why?”
“Vivian asked me whether Karen had called you.”
That was enough to send me back toward the office. Daniel was bent over a set of engineering drawings, one hand holding a ruler against a line while the other marked a measurement in pencil. His phone lay beside a stack of papers.
“Call her,” I said.
He looked up. “Now?”
“Now.”
He moved the ruler aside. “You want me to?”
“I want to know what your mother has been telling her.”
Daniel gave me the small nod he used when he knew I had already made the decision. He handed me his phone, but I shook my head.
“I’ll call from mine.”
Karen answered on the fourth ring.
“Hi, Elena.”
“Karen, can I ask you something?”
There was water running on her end. A cabinet door closed.
“Sure.”
“Has your mother been talking
