“Do you think you were targeted? Was the car following you?” the embassy woman translated as the police asked us questions. One of the officers looked at us as though we were hysterical Americans, imagining a conspiracy.

“Yes,” I said and “No,” Danielle said.

There was discussion then, and one of the officers shook his head sadly.

“There is a lot of drunk driving on that road,” the embassy woman said. “It is regrettable.”

“We are adopting a Russian infant and I think we were targeted,” I said, and Danielle said something in Russian to the police.

“Not everyone approves of foreign adoption,” the embassy worker said, “but we’ve never had parents targeted.”

“Well, you do now,” I said, and Kyle put a hand on my shoulder and I shrugged it off.

No one saw a license plate of the other car, and so we would have to rely on the police checking body shops or the security cameras on the streets catching the damaged vehicle.

We went back to the hotel. The two hours with Sasha had been so wonderful, even with him sick. With my embarrassing scene at the orphanage and the crash, the day felt ruined. I wouldn't let it. We met our son today. I would not let these unfortunate moments cloud this day.

“What the hell is going on here?” Kyle said as we sat down at the lobby bar. We ordered glasses of red wine. My nerves felt shattered.

“That woman in the airport doesn’t seem so unbelievable now, does she? We were warned to go home. And then this.”

“Maybe we go home,” Kyle said, looking at me. “And we don’t come back.”

So much for “See you soon, son.”

No Sasha to become Grant. No. No. I would not be scared off and I could not believe Kyle, my brave, smart Kyle, would consider backing down.

“Absolutely not,” I said.

“I’ll let you talk,” Danielle said. She gulped her wine down.

“Wait. If we back out, do we get any of the money back?” Kyle asked her. I took refuge in a long sip of French pinot noir.