I started up the wooden stairs.

Each step felt like it took a lifetime.

At the top of the stairs, the hallway was narrow.

Three doors were closed.

The fourth door at the end of the hall was slightly ajar.

A faint yellow light spilled from the crack onto the floor.

I walked toward it, my breath shallow.

I pushed the door open.

The room inside was bright.

The walls were painted the same soft yellow as the crib in the photo.

A mobile of wooden birds hung from the ceiling, spinning slowly in the draft.

In the center of the room sat the yellow crib.

On the changing table lay a stack of diapers and baby clothes.

Beside them was a manila folder.

I walked over and picked up the folder.

Inside were several sheets of official-looking paper.

At the top of the first page, the bold letters read: “PETITION FOR EMERGENCY SOLE CUSTODY.”

My name and Megan’s name were printed at the bottom.

Our signatures were already there, written in blue ink.

But I had never signed this document.

Neither had Megan.