“Be right back.” Jess heads into the interrogation room, which makes space for another woman to sit and wait her turn. These women will decide Jackson’s fate. How many have been back? Three? Four? I review my own behavior over the past months, weeks, days, hours. Would I believe me?

The baby relaxes against my chest, content. He’s not mine. I remind myself that he will be given back, taken, or worse. I cup the back of his head. A few of the women whisper. I drop my hand.

“Rebecca?” The bench groans beneath the weight of a new person. It’s Beth. “Can I see him?”

I twist his warm body toward her. Her inspection is quiet, thoughtful. “Are you sure…” Her sentence fades and with it, her certainty. “Bec, he looks exactly like Jackson.” Her voice is smug, like her.

“But it’s not Jackson.” The words crack too loudly into the overrun station. It’s as if the phones, conversation, and rampant dialogue in my head ceases with my son’s name. No one will say his name but me.

It’s not Jackson. Not my son. Not him.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to upset you,” Beth explains.

“You’re not.” I pat the baby’s back. “I don’t expect anyone to get it … but I’m telling the truth. I am.”

If I say it enough, they will believe me.

A few minutes later, the door opens. Jess files out and sinks into the chair.

“Beth?” Officer Toby is official, detached.

“How’d it go?” My voice is neutral as I turn toward Jess.

“You know how it goes. They ask stupid fucking questions, try to trip you up.”

“Does it look…” Good? Bad? Am I going to jail?

“Not good, no.”

My jaw settles. If my mother were here, she’d flip a damn table. If Chris were here … Chris makes me think of Jake. I haven’t heard from him in hours. I sigh. I know Rob called in this favor, gathered all these women after word spread and the flyers were distributed, but it seems fruitless. None of these women saw anything. None of them believe me. Is Jake right? Is all of this doing more harm than good?

“Do you want me to stay with you tonight?”

I think of walking into my mother’s house, alone. I think of putting this stranger baby to bed again in my son’s crib and pretending it’s all going to be okay in the morning. I’ve been running so hard for so long, but grief has found me. I’m caught.

Yes. The word burns at the back of my throat, but instead, I resist. I can’t keep taking Jess away from her husband and child. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.”

Jess sighs so loudly, the baby rouses. “What is it going to take?”

“For what?”