Chapter 3 - The Paperwork of Betrayal
The paramedics flooded the house a few minutes later, their heavy boots thudding against the hardwood. They immediately took over Lily’s care, checking her vitals and confirming my worst fears—she had been given a heavy dose of a prescription sedative meant for adults, a muscle relaxant prescribed to Brian for his chronic back pain.
While the medics stabilized Lily and checked Mason for signs of physical trauma, a stern-faced police officer named Officer Vance started taking my statement.
"You said the parents are in Florida?" Vance asked, his pen hovering over his notepad.
"Yes. They told me—they told everyone—that Lily was staying with her aunt and Mason was with them at Disney World for his birthday," I explained, my voice cracking. "But Mason was in the closet. Lily was drugged on the floor."
"Grandpa," Mason called out from the kitchen table, where a paramedic was wrapping a warm blanket around his shoulders. "The papers. Look at the papers under the mail."
I walked over to the counter, Officer Vance following closely behind. I pulled the thick manila folder from beneath the bills and flyers. The heading at the top of the first page made the room spin: Voluntary Relinquishment of Parental Rights and Intent to Terminate Adoption.
I read the names through a blur of tears. Lily’s name was listed at the top.
Lily and Mason were both adopted. My late wife, Evelyn, and I had been thrilled when Brian and Marissa announced they were adopting the siblings four years ago after a long struggle with infertility. We had welcomed them into our hearts with open arms. But looking at these documents, it became sickeningly clear that the adoption had been a sham from the very beginning.
"They were trying to give her back," I whispered, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.
"Look at the dates, sir," Officer Vance pointed to the bottom of the form.
The paperwork had been drawn up two weeks ago. It was fully signed by Brian and Marissa, awaiting only the signature of a social worker and a family court judge. But it wasn't just a relinquishment form. Tucked behind it was a printout of an email chain between Marissa and a private, unaccredited "rehoming" agency—a sketchy underground network where people traded adopted children like unwanted pets.
“Lily has severe behavioral issues and is unmanageable,” Marissa had written in an email dated three days ago. “We are taking our biological son, Mason, to Florida to celebrate his birthday without the disruption. We need Lily placed immediately upon our return.”
Biological son.
My breath caught. Mason wasn't biological. They had adopted both children together because the agency wouldn't separate siblings. But three years ago, Marissa had miraculously gotten pregnant and given birth to a baby girl, Chloe.
Suddenly, the pieces of the horrific puzzle fell into place. Where was Chloe?
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"Where is the baby?" I turned to Mason, panic gripping my chest. "Mason, where is Chloe?"
"She's with Mom and Dad in Florida," Mason said, his voice trembling. "They took Chloe. They said she’s their real family. They told us we were just mistakes they bought from the state."
