At Volkov, they stripped Grant of his orphanage-issued clothes—even his diaper, which was still clean. We had clothes and a fresh diaper ready for him. It was as if he were shedding the skin of his old life and putting on his American life. My hands shook a little bit as I dressed him. He was fussy, having been woken from a nap, and I just kept saying “Mommy and Daddy are here. We love you and everything is going to be OK.” I thought: You went to sleep as Alexander Stepurin and you’ve woken up as Grant Pollitt. Welcome to your new life.

His new onesie had a little Texan flag on it, and maybe that was gauche, but he was going to be an American child now. I put him in his coat and a warm hat; the snow still came down outside. I really, really wanted to be gone from this place and never look back at it.

The goodbyes were short and fueled by Maria ensuring that we had all the paperwork, double-checking we had his Russian-issued passport. I wanted to say, “Any other paperwork we haven’t signed, you can scan and email to us or fax to us,” but I didn’t. Everything checked.

We said a thankful goodbye to Pavel, who was staying on at the orphanage to help another family whose translator had canceled at the last moment. He shook our hands and wished us well.

The snow came down like a curtain; I was really getting anxious about the weather. Danielle, Kyle, and I trudged through the snow to the parking lot, where Tatiana and the car waited, and opened the doors. I had already set up your baby seat in the back because I didn’t want to fiddle with it as we were leaving the orphanage. Get in and go. I settled you in, and Kyle and I shut the doors and buckled up and I felt the weight of a stare. I looked up to meet eyes in the rearview mirror and realized the woman in the driver’s seat in Tatiana’s coat and hat wasn’t Tatiana.

It was Anya.

Danielle, in the front seat, was staring at her and not moving.

“Anya,” I said.

“She has a gun,” Danielle said, very calmly. “Aimed at me.”

“You are not taking my baby,” Anya said. “Danielle, you drive. Get out of the car and come around to driver’s seat while I slide over. If you run, if you yell, I will shoot both of these Americans.”

Her English had improved.

“You wouldn’t. Not in front of the baby,” I said.

“I will,” she said, and I believed her.

“You would hurt his ears with a gunshot,” Kyle said calmly.

“Then don’t make me shoot,” she said.