Will Anya show up? Will Boris? I cannot let my nerves show. I have to be steel.

I had thought the hearing would be in a courtroom. Instead it was just in a large room, with a large table, with the judge sitting across from us.

The judge had complete power over our happiness. That’s an odd realization to have…that this stranger holds the course of the rest of your life in her hands. That your years to come pivot on the next hour, and you have no control over it.

She was a small woman, with little bolts of gray through her black hair. Her eyes were dark, too, and serious, and inspecting us behind her eyeglasses. She looked tired and irritated. Also in the room were another court official (I assume a clerk; his title was never stated to us); Maria, our caseworker from the Volkov Infants Home; Pavel, our interpreter; and Kyle and me. Danielle waited outside, but she’d explained the all-important ritual:

Judge asked question.

Pavel translated question.

Kyle and I stood up, answered question, sat back down.

Pavel stood up to translate our response.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

It was like a long play of jack-in-the-box.

Up and down, up and down, like my heart had been this whole process.

But no sign of Anya. No indication from the judge or the orphanage director that she had appealed or that she had sought to attend. Maybe she didn’t even know today was the hearing.

“You already have a child?” the judge demanded (as Pavel translated, seated).

We both stand. I can tell every fiber of Kyle’s being wants to just keep standing, to stop this silly ruse, but we don’t dare. “Yes, Your Honor, a daughter who is three. Her name is Julia.”

“And she was diagnosed with cancer as an infant?”

“Yes, ma’am, a very treatable neuroblastoma. She is healthy and doing well.”

I felt dizzy even talking about this with this woman.

“I am glad to hear that. So, this Russian baby is an insurance policy? Eh?”

Yes, she actually said that: “Eh?” Like an old man. “Is that how you view him? In case your first child is sick again?” Pavel’s voice was steady as he translated the question.

We had been coached—relentlessly—by Danielle that we must be absolutely compliant, show no anger or frustration, and to not ask any questions.

They are giving us a son of Russia. A piece of their future. Show gratitude, shut your mouth.

I wanted to say: “If I just wanted a replacement baby, honey, I would have taken the quarter-million-dollar bribe. But no, I want this one. No other will do.” I wondered if my mouth quivered with my unspoken response.