The document was twelve pages long.
It laid out a complete and permanent surrender of my rights as a mother.
It named Hannah Lawson as the relinquishing party.
It listed my military service as the main reason I could no longer provide a stable home for a child.
I took out the second folder.
This one held a single sheet of printer paper.
At the top, someone had typed Transition Timeline.A neat list of dates ran down the left side of the page.
The first date was October twentieth.
The note beside it read, Finalize travel accounts.
Marcus stepped closer.
He clicked his silver pen over and over, the metallic sound echoing in the narrow space.
“I need an evidence bag,” I said.
“Right now.”
“Put the papers back inside the case,” Marcus said.“Don’t fold them.”
I set the folders carefully back on the stack of tax returns.
