Moose follows me to the door. Despite his calm presence, the thermometer inside me is close to boiling point. “You didn’t give us any other choice,” I say through gritted teeth.

“What you’re doing is a sin,” Heidi states. “Isaiah 43:18: ‘Do not call to mind the former things, or ponder things of the past.’ ”

“ ‘And you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.’ John 8:32.” I’m so furious at this woman who stole my past and place in this world, who hid my real mom, at her audacity to judge me, that spit flies from my lips with each word. “We can trade Bible verses all freaking day. You chose Hana and she made sure I went to church. So bring it on!”

Gabriella pounds her fist on the armrest and shouts, “ ‘Sanctify them by the truth. Your word is truth.’ John 17:17. My sister and I loved church. I’ve forgotten her name. Do you know her?” she asks Heidi.

“You should thank us both,” Heidi levels at me, her body rigid. “Without us, you would never have been adopted.”

“Why?” I demand. “What was so wrong with me?”

“If you don’t leave, I’ll call the police,” Heidi threatens.

Thomas touches my shoulder. “Sylvie, we should go.”

Heidi waves us through the open door. “And don’t come back. I’ll make certain the staff here knows that if you do, they should call the police.”

Gabriella shouts, “Order in my court.”

I cross the room, kneel, Gabriella’s bunny slippers between my feet. “Please, please tell me about Sylvie Peters.”

She stares down her nose with pursed lips then a smile blooms and she pats my hand. “Let me simplify it. Imagine a child is a house. There was a horrific crime in that house. Who’d want to buy it? But if you repaint the house, oil the system so it runs lightning fast. Voilà. A sale.”

“Out!” Heidi shrieks.

“Bye, bye, birdie,” Gabriella calls with a wave as we walk out the door.

FORTY-FIVE

Thomas

Sylvie thinks Gabriella understood enough of our conversation that there’s something we can use. I’m not sure. Still, it’s what we have to work with. I order room service for dinner. Sylvie feeds Moose then joins me on the couch with two beers from the minibar.

“What was your biggest takeaway?” she asks.

I go through the conversation in my mind, pluck out the highlights. “Gabriella believed the foster system was flawed. Heidi admitted that they did something to get you adopted. We know that was sealing hospital records, destroying your foster file, and a quick adoption to folks who agreed not to ask questions.”

Sylvie takes a sip of beer. “Whatever was in my files must’ve been really bad.” She taps a hotel pen on a pad of paper, thinks aloud. “Dr. Johnson petitioned to see my records even though they were sealed—”

“His friend the court clerk said there was nothing in the system for Sylvie Peters. He guessed that your information was misfiled.” I drink some beer, peel the paper label—in college whoever could peel their label cleanly off first was owed the next round. Rolling Rock was easiest, then Pacifico . . . Imagine a child is a house . . . there was a horrific crime in it . . . paint the house . . . voilà, a sale. The truth smacks me between the eyes. “Your records weren’t misfiled. Heidi and Gabriella changed your name!”