The next morning, Mara woke with a plan. She could barely taste her coffee, her mind already racing through possible routes to trace the necklace. The adoption agency was a place she had avoided for nearly two decades—but now it might hold the only thread leading to her son’s bright future.
The building looked different, repainted and brighter, but the weight in her chest was the same as the day she’d signed the papers. At the reception desk, she gave her name and explained, haltingly, that she was looking for any updates on her son’s file.