The waiting room smelled like the kind of place where hope came to die. Clara sat clutching the strap of her bag so tightly her knuckles ached. Every tick of the wall clock felt like an insult.
Finally, a woman in a gray sweater called her name. They sat across from each other in a small office with faded posters.
"I need to reopen my son's adoption records," Clara said, her voice strong but low. "I was pressured to give him up. I didn't understand what I was signing. Why won't you people help me?"
The caseworker's expression softened, but her tone was firm, rehearsed. "Ms. Clara, I understand this is important to you. But the adoption was finalized years ago. Those records are sealed."
"There has to be a way," Clara pressed, leaning forward. "If the paperwork was signed under duress.."
"Even then," the woman interrupted gently, "we would need clear legal grounds. And proving coercion after this much time is close to impossible."
Clara's voice shook. "I just want to know where he is. If he's happy. If.." She broke off, swallowing hard.
"I wish I could help," the woman said softly, then hesitated, glancing down at a note on her desk. "It looks like… someone else has inquired about this file in recent months." She slid the folder closed quickly, as if realizing she had said too much. "But there's nothing more I can tell you."
By late afternoon, Clara left with the same thin pamphlet she had been handed every time she came here in the past. Resources for Birth Parents.
When she got home, Axiel was waiting for her in the foyer, legs swinging idly from the bench, a board game tucked under his arm. "I saved us a spot in the lounge," he said when she walked in.
Her heart twisted. "I'm sorry, Ax. I… have something with Riley tonight."
He masked his disappointment well, but she saw it, the brief flicker before he smiled and nodded.
From across the hall, Ethan leaned against the doorway, pretending to scroll through his phone. He didn't look up when she left, but his thumb had stopped moving on the screen minutes ago.