The document looked official, but as I ran my thumb over the state seal, the paper felt unusually thin.

It didn’t have the raised, textured feel of my own birth certificate or our marriage license.

Underneath the birth certificate was the adoption decree.

I read the names of the agency and the judge who had signed off on the adoption eighteen years ago.

The agency was listed as *The Hope Pathways Foundation*.

My phone suddenly buzzed on the desk beside me, making me jump.

The screen lit up with an unknown number.

I swiped the screen and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said, my voice barely a whisper.

“Evelyn?”

It was Rose’s voice.

She sounded out of breath, as if she had been running.

“Rose,” I said, gripping the edge of the desk. “Where are you?”

“I’m still near the diner,” she said. “I’m in my car. Did you find anything?”

“I’m in his office,” I said. “I found the adoption papers.”

“Look at the bottom of the decree,” Rose said. “Look at the signature for the social worker.”

I turned the page over.