PART 4
The words stayed in the air long after Daniel stopped speaking.
“Yours and Carter’s.”
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t even hear the airplane anymore.
All I could hear was one sentence repeating inside my head.
The baby you were told was dead.
Four years ago, I had sat in a cold hospital room with Carter beside me.
I remembered everything.
The gray curtains.
The smell of disinfectant.
The doctor’s careful expression.
The way Carter had stared at the floor instead of looking at me.
And the words that had shattered me.
“There is no viable pregnancy.”
I had cried until I couldn’t make a sound.
Carter had held my hand for perhaps thirty seconds before his phone rang.
He had stepped into the hallway.
I remembered watching him through the glass.
He had answered the call.
Then he had smiled.
Just for a second.
At the time, I thought I was imagining it.
I thought grief was making me suspicious.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
“Mr. Brooks,” I whispered, “what exactly are you telling me?”
“The embryo transfer records indicate that the embryo created from your eggs and Mr. Sterling’s sperm was transferred into another patient.”
“Without my permission?”
“Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“How?”
“That is what we’re trying to establish.”
“You said you found the original consent document.”
“We did.”
“What does it say?”
Daniel took a breath.
“It indicates that the transfer was supposed to occur only after your written authorization.”
“But I never gave authorization.”
“I know.”
“Then who signed it?”
There was silence.
“Mr. Brooks?”
“We believe the signature may have been forged.”
My hands started shaking.
“By whom?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“But you have the document.”
“Yes.”
“Then you should know whose handwriting it is.”
“That is why I’m calling you.”
I looked toward Chloe.
She was still asleep.
Emma had shifted beneath her blanket.
They had no idea that their mother’s entire understanding of their family was being torn apart thousands of feet above the ground.
Daniel continued.
“There is another problem.”
“What?”
“The transfer date.”
“What about it?”
“The transfer happened four years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Jessica’s current pregnancy is approximately eighteen weeks.”
I frowned.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Mrs. Vance, the embryo transferred four years ago did not result in a pregnancy at that time.”
I stared at the seat in front of me.
“What?”
“The embryo was cryopreserved.”
I felt my heartbeat in my throat.
“So…”
“Yes.”
“The baby she’s carrying now…”
“May have been created four years ago.”
My mouth went dry.
“But why would someone wait four years?”
“We don’t know.”
“Who authorized the transfer?”
“We don’t know.”
“Why Jessica?”
“We don’t know.”
“Then what do you know?”
Daniel’s voice became quieter.
“We know someone deliberately moved an embryo belonging to you and Carter into a different patient’s treatment cycle.”
I closed my eyes.
“Someone knew.”
“Yes.”
“Someone knew that embryo existed.”
“Yes.”
“Someone knew about my medical records.”
“Yes.”
“Someone knew Jessica.”
“Yes.”
I whispered the question I had been afraid to ask.
“Does Carter know?”
Daniel didn’t answer immediately.
“I can’t discuss another patient’s communications.”
“He is the biological father.”
“We have not confirmed that.”
“But you just told me the embryo may be ours.”
“May be.”
I looked at the folder.
“Then what happens now?”
“We need you to sign an authorization so we can release the original records to your attorney.”
“Send them.”
“I already sent a copy to the email address listed on your legal file.”
My phone buzzed.
An email had arrived.
OAKFIELD FERTILITY INSTITUTE — CONFIDENTIAL RECORDS
My finger hovered over it.
Daniel continued.
“Mrs. Vance, there is something else you should know.”
“What?”
“The original consent form contains a handwritten note.”
My chest tightened.
“What note?”
“It says, ‘The husband has been informed.’”
I froze.
Carter.
Someone had written that Carter knew.
But if the transfer happened without my knowledge, why would anyone claim he had been informed?
“Was Carter’s signature on the form?”
“No.”
“Then how could the clinic believe he consented?”
“They apparently relied on the handwritten notation.”
“Who wrote it?”
“We’re investigating.”
I looked out the window.
The clouds below were bright and peaceful.
My life was anything but.
“Mr. Brooks?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t contact Carter.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t know who he is anymore.”
Daniel didn’t argue.
“I understand.”
I ended the call.
Megan leaned over.
“Lauren.”
I looked at her.
She had tears in her eyes.
“Was that about the baby?”
I nodded.
“Jessica may be carrying my baby.”
Megan covered her mouth.
“Oh my God.”
“And Carter might have known something.”
“Do you think he did?”
I looked at my daughters.
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
And somehow, not knowing was worse than knowing.
Three hours later, Carter was standing in the parking lot outside Oakfield Fertility Institute.
He had been there for nearly twenty minutes.
He had called Lauren thirty-one times.
She hadn’t answered.
He had called his attorney.
His attorney had refused to explain anything over the phone.
He had called his mother.
She had said she was “confused.”
Then he had called the clinic.
They wouldn’t speak to him.
Now he stood outside the building, staring at the glass doors.
Jessica was sitting in the passenger seat.
She hadn’t spoken for ten minutes.
Finally, Carter turned toward her.
“Did my mother arrange your treatment?”
Jessica stared through the windshield.
“I don’t know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because I don’t know.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
She swallowed.
“I met Margaret four years ago.”
Carter’s expression hardened.
“Four years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“At a charity event.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t important.”
“You were carrying a child that may have been created four years ago.”
“I didn’t know!”
Carter slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
Jessica flinched.
“I didn’t know, Carter!”
He turned away.
His breathing was heavy.
Then Jessica whispered:
“Your mother told me you wanted a son.”
Carter looked at her.
“She said Lauren had already failed you.”
His face changed.
“What?”
“She said you were tired of being disappointed.”
“Stop.”
“She said the Sterling family needed a boy.”
“Stop.”
“She said Lauren would never give you one.”
Carter stared at her.
“Did she say that?”
Jessica nodded.
“What else?”
“She said your marriage was already over.”
Carter’s voice became almost inaudible.
“Before I met you?”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes.
Because that wasn’t true.
Their marriage had problems.
But it hadn’t been over.
Not then.
He remembered Lauren sitting at their kitchen table four years earlier.
She had been crying.
She had said:
“Carter, something is wrong with the clinic records.”
He had told her she was overreacting.
He had told her to stop obsessing.
He had told her the baby was gone.
But now he remembered something else.
A phone call.
His mother had called him that night.
She had asked:
“Did Lauren tell you about the clinic?”
He had said yes.
His mother had replied:
“Good. Don’t let her make this bigger than it is.”
At the time, he hadn’t questioned it.
Now he did.
Everything.
Carter got out of the car.
Jessica followed.
“Where are you going?”
“To find my mother.”
Margaret Sterling was sitting in her living room when Carter arrived.
Richard was beside her.
Both looked nervous.
Carter walked inside.
“Tell me the truth.”
Margaret looked at him.
“About what?”
“The embryo.”
Her face changed.
Richard stood.
“Carter, calm down.”
“No.”
He pointed toward his mother.
“Did you know about Lauren’s embryo?”
Margaret didn’t answer.
“Mom?”
“I knew she had fertility treatment.”
“Did you know the embryo was transferred?”
Margaret’s silence answered him.
Carter felt something inside him break.
“You knew.”
“I was trying to help.”
“You knew?”
“I was protecting this family.”
“From what?”
“From another daughter.”
Carter stared.
“What?”
Margaret’s voice remained strangely calm.
“You and Lauren had two girls.”
“They are my daughters.”
“Yes.”
“They are your granddaughters.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Margaret looked at him.
“Because Richard and I had already decided that the Sterling family needed a son.”
Carter shook his head.
“That doesn’t explain anything.”
“It does.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
Margaret finally broke.
“Lauren was never supposed to have that embryo.”
Carter stopped breathing.
“Why?”
“Because we had a plan.”
“What plan?”
“To give the embryo to Jessica.”
His voice disappeared.
“You arranged it?”
Margaret looked down.
“I arranged the paperwork.”
Richard whispered, “Margaret…”
“Don’t.”
Carter stared at her.
“You stole my child.”
“I gave the family a future.”
“You stole my child.”
“I thought you wanted a son.”
“You didn’t ask me!”
“You would have refused.”
“Yes!”
The word echoed through the room.
Carter’s eyes filled with tears.
“You knew I would refuse.”
Margaret said nothing.
“And Lauren?”
“She couldn’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because she would have fought us.”
Carter laughed bitterly.
“So you lied to her.”
Margaret’s eyes filled.
“You were already drifting away from her.”
“You pushed me away from her.”
“I did what I thought was necessary.”
Carter stared at his mother.
For the first time in his life, he saw her differently.
Not as the woman who had raised him.
Not as the woman who had always protected the family.
But as someone who had made a decision about another person’s child.
A decision that wasn’t hers to make.
“Does Jessica know?”
“She knew enough.”
“And the baby?”
Margaret looked away.
“Jessica was supposed to carry him and give birth.”
Carter’s voice shook.
“You planned this four years ago?”
“Yes.”
“But Jessica wasn’t pregnant then.”
“No.”
“Then why did you wait?”
Margaret hesitated.
“Because the clinic needed time.”
“For what?”
“To prepare the transfer.”
Carter suddenly remembered the doctor.
The eighteen-week discrepancy.
The fertility records.
The four-year-old embryo.
Then another thought struck him.
“Why did Jessica tell everyone she was fifteen weeks?”
Margaret didn’t answer.
“Mom.”
“She was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?”
“That someone would discover the timeline.”
Carter stepped backward.
“So you knew the dates were wrong.”
Margaret whispered:
“Yes.”
Carter’s phone rang.
His attorney.
He answered.
“Hello?”
“Carter, you need to come to my office immediately.”
“Why?”
“I have the sealed exhibit.”
“What is it?”
“Lauren’s attorney filed a request for emergency preservation of medical records.”
Carter’s heart raced.
“What else?”
“The judge signed it.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means the clinic is legally prohibited from destroying or altering anything related to the embryo.”
Carter looked at his mother.
Then his attorney said:
“And there’s more.”
“What?”
“The court has scheduled an emergency hearing.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
Carter’s stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“Because Lauren’s attorney is alleging that the fertility records were manipulated.”
Carter stared at Margaret.
“Who filed the allegation?”
His attorney answered.
“Lauren Vance.”
Carter closed his eyes.
She knew.
She had known enough to act.
And suddenly he understood why she had taken the girls to Seattle.
She wasn’t running away.
She was protecting them.
His attorney continued.
“Carter, you need to hear this.”
“What?”
“The judge has also ordered a temporary freeze on any attempt to transfer, implant, or alter custody rights involving the pregnancy.”
Carter swallowed.
“Does that mean Jessica can’t leave the state?”
“Not without court approval.”
He ended the call.
Margaret stood.
“Carter…”
He looked at her.
“I don’t know how much of my life was real anymore.”
Then he walked out.
Meanwhile, my plane landed in Seattle at 8:42 p.m.
Chloe woke first.
“Mom?”
“I’m here.”
“Are we really staying?”
“Yes.”
“For good?”
I looked at her.
“For as long as we need.”
She nodded.
Emma reached for my hand.
“Can we see our new house?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
We walked through the airport.
The girls were tired.
I was exhausted.
But there was something strangely peaceful about walking away from everything I had known.
Then I saw a man standing near baggage claim.
Dark suit.
Gray hair.
Holding a white envelope.
He looked directly at me.
“Mrs. Vance?”
I stopped.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Daniel Brooks.”
My stomach tightened.
“The attorney?”
“Yes.”
“You came here?”
“I needed to deliver something personally.”
He handed me the envelope.
I looked at it.
“What’s inside?”
“The original consent form.”
I opened it.
There it was.
My name.
Carter’s name.
The clinic’s stamp.
And a signature.
I stared.
It looked like mine.
Almost.
But not quite.
Megan leaned closer.
“That’s not your signature.”
“I know.”
Daniel nodded.
“We had a handwriting specialist examine it.”
“And?”
“It was forged.”
I looked at him.
“Who forged it?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then he handed me another sheet.
“This is the handwriting analysis.”
I read the first line.
Probable author: Margaret Sterling.
My knees nearly gave out.
Carter’s mother.
But Daniel wasn’t finished.
“There is another document.”
He handed me a second envelope.
“This one is more important.”
I opened it.
Inside was a photograph.
An old photograph.
Taken four years earlier.
At the fertility clinic.
I stared at it.
There was Margaret.
There was Jessica.
And there was another person standing beside them.
A man I recognized immediately.
My own husband.
Carter.
My fingers went numb.
Megan whispered:
“Lauren…”
I couldn’t answer.
Because written on the back of the photograph were six words:
They all knew. You didn’t.
And suddenly, the question wasn’t whether Carter had betrayed me.
The question was:
How long had he known that our baby was still alive?
