“Smart boy,” Pavel said. “He knows where the presents are.”

“Sasha!” I said in a happy, cheerful tone. He glanced back at me. He wobbled as he stood and he reached into the tote again and pulled out a small stuffed otter. He held it, uncertain. Did he think someone was going to take it from him?

I knelt on the floor next to Kyle, not crowding him.

And Sasha gave us both a shy little smile.

Go home, that interfering woman in the airport told me.

Nope, lady. Nope.

The two hours flew. Kyle picked up Sasha, held him over his head, which was an entirely new experience for Sasha, and he giggled and drooled (Sasha, not Kyle). But two hours was a long while when you weren’t feeling good, and at the end of the time he was cranky and sleepy, unused to the unrelenting attention.

I was holding him, and now his little head was tucked into the mom-space between shoulder and neck, when Maria reentered the room (she had gone in and out during the visitation time in silent observation of us) and spoke to Pavel in rapid-fire Russian. “Time is up. I am sorry,” Pavel translated. “Time for Sasha to go rest.”

Kyle put his hand on Sasha’s head, kissed his blond hair. “We’ll see you soon, son.” The final word was like a knife through me.

Maria held out her arms for our son. My limbs felt like lead, but I handed him back to her. Sasha turned away, sleepy again, and Maria was gentle with him.

I burst into tears. (Oh, I hate crying. I really hate it.) Kyle folded his arms around me. “Goodbye, sweetheart. We’ll see you soon,” I said, and Maria thoughtfully turned so I could see him yawn in answer.

Maria closed the door behind her. I could see that Kyle—who I saw weep only when Julia was sick and at her lowest with the neuroblastoma—was fighting for control, and behind the mirrors were the faceless administrators watching, judging, saying we were too emotional, too overwrought. I didn’t know what standard we were supposed to meet with these folks. So Danielle embraced me and I let her and I sobbed.

After we composed ourselves, we met the rest of the staff. Presents were given, from the administrator down to the custodians, who asked us about American music (note to self: bring CDs next time) and were happy to have American cigarettes. Everyone smiled at us, Pavel was the target of gentle flirtations. Maria joined us, having taken our poor sick baby elsewhere, and I asked about the older children, if they could use computer games. Or computers. Or whatever they needed. We’d already spent thousands upon thousands of dollars to get to this point. What was a bit more? I felt dizzy.

“How did it go?” I whispered to Danielle.

She squeezed my hand in reassurance.