Some of Jake’s positivity starts to creep in as we inch closer to the city. Maybe this single piece of technology will be the very thing to bring my son home. If this baby is in the system too, then it will prove he’s not Jackson. The world will know. People will start looking for him instead of just looking at me.

At the hospital, we take the elevator up. He verbally guides me down the hall, even though I remember where to go. Chris used to make jokes about my photographic memory—how only I would be able to navigate the world without sight and still be able to see. He wasn’t entirely wrong. The images from memory play out almost like reading a book. Everything unfolds as if on a screen.

We reach the maternity floor. I remember coming here for my very first maternity class, where I held a lifelike doll and had to change a diaper. My fingers were clumsy and unpracticed, and I felt like all the other parents were watching me. It wasn’t Chris in the class with me—it was my mother. I channel the strength she instilled in me now, because I’m going to need it.

Jake holds the door open and a blast of cold bites my skin. Suddenly, I’m frozen with nerves. What if this is another dead end? If their machine somehow doesn’t work too? I touch Jake’s elbow. “If he’s not in the system…”

“Then we’ll scan him now and move onto DNA analysis. It will take some time, as I said before, but we need definitive answers. You need definitive answers.”

At the desk, Jake flashes his badge, and things move quickly. No signing in. No waiting. We’re immediately ushered back to one of the small, sterile rooms in under two minutes.

Jake does all the talking. I’m glad I don’t have to lie, pretend, or rely on my other senses. Jake is here. Jake will tell me what happens. The nurse introduces herself, and Jake provides a high-level rundown.

“Well, let’s see what we can do then,” she says. She’s soft-spoken. “This little machine is like an insurance policy against any sort of kidnapping or switches after birth. Which is why they’re working so hard to get all the kinks out.” Jake informs her that we’re aware of all the machine’s advantages. She messes with some cords. “Ready?”

I rearrange the baby on my lap. “Ready.”

“Okay, little guy. I need that foot,” she says. I settle him on his back so she can press the sole of his foot against the flat screen.

“So, I’m just getting his foot in position,” she explains. She clicks a few buttons and turns a monitor. Jake walks me through it step-by-step.

“Once we scan him, it will bring up his electronic medical records on the computer, okay?”