In the living room, I sat down on a dingy sofa that probably belonged to the tenant. I studied the recessed lights, the skim-coat paint job, the fine cabinetry. If the apartment was a rental, it was a highly unusual one. Perhaps Amelia and Fritz believed the entire house was a marketing opportunity, and it needed to represent their work accurately.

Before I left, I took a glass down from the kitchen cabinet and filled it with water. I poured the cup of water on the wood floor in the middle of the bedroom. A leak, she might think. I took a photo of the puddle so that I could replicate it in the future, if need be. Then I dried the glass and returned it to the cabinet.

When I finished eating dinner, I cleaned the Straubs’ kitchen so it would look exactly as it had when I’d arrived. I washed the dishes by hand, dried them, and put them away. I placed all the garbage in a bag that I would throw out on my way to the train.

Before leaving, I checked on their home office, because I’d found useful information there in the past. I sat down at Amelia’s desk, resting my hands on the smooth, rich walnut. In and among a stack of architectural drawings, I saw two new Post-its. One read: surrogacy agency with a phone number below. One read: adoption agency with a phone number below. A chill traveled across my scalp and down my back.

Amelia and Fritz could very well be moving forward on their quest to have a baby, and I wasn’t privy to any of the pertinent information. I needed to understand their thought process so that I could guide them, so that I could help them.

Days later Ian sent me an extravagant flower arrangement with a card that read: I’m in awe of you. His mother, Paula, sent me a box of Godiva chocolates with a card that read: You’re brilliant.

I emailed Ian to tell him that I was planning to be in his neighborhood in the West Village for work. We met for dinner at a small Japanese restaurant, decorated with antique Japanese panels.

Apparently, his mother had already received two offers on the apartment, with another potential one on the way, all greatly exceeding the asking price.

For the first half hour, Ian appeared tongue-tied and mildly flustered. “I really … I mean … Yeah, I know it was your photos,” he said. “My mother is your friend for life. I can’t even … I sent a couple of them to Amelia. She was blown away too.”

He was especially grateful, he said, because he wanted to move things along quickly with his mother’s apartment. “It reminds her of my dad,” he said. “Once she moves out, she’s planning to go to Florida.” He paused. “You grew up in Florida, didn’t you?”