Francie: Well. On our first trip, a couple of times, Danielle didn’t show up to go to meetings with us. I mean, I know she has other adoptions she’s working, but hey, we’re her only clients right there in Russia, put the focus on us. She would apologize, say she got pulled into another meeting. And she didn’t have to be there with us, the process moved forward, but then why was she in Russia if not to help us? On the second trip, the morning of our hearing, you know, we don’t want to be late, and there’s no sign of her in the hotel lobby, where we’re supposed to meet. My husband, Hugh, is frantic, and I think maybe she’s just out on the street, waiting for the driver. And I see her, but she’s walking away from the hotel. And I’m thinking: What the hell? She’s too far away to hear me yell, but I can see it’s her. Leaving, ten minutes before we’re supposed to be heading to the adoption hearing. Can you imagine what I’m thinking? I’m thinking something’s gone horribly wrong and she’s leaving so she doesn’t have to tell us, or she’s having to go find a new driver, which, I mean, we could just take a taxi—I’m not thinking logically at all.

Then I see a man get out of a car. A really nice car, like a Mercedes SUV, and he speaks to her. He’s in a really expensive suit—you don’t necessarily see a lot of those in Russia. Dark hair. She hands him something, and he hands her something. They talk for maybe fifteen seconds. Then she walks on.

I’m wondering what the hell is going on.

Then I see her go to a park, and she walks by a trash container and drops what she’s carrying into it. She turns; I’m hanging back at this point, glancing at my watch. We’re five minutes from the hotel. I follow her back. I don’t want to look behind me now. I’ve seen movies where someone dumps something for pickup. I don’t want to see someone maybe pulling that package she tossed into the trash after the man gave it to her.

I don’t want to know.

When the hotel is in sight, I catch up with Danielle.

“Hey, Danielle,” I say, and she turns and looks at me and says, “Hey.” Like, you know, we’re not in Russia and we’ve just bumped into each other at the grocery store.

I say, “What…what were you doing?”