The aircraft lifted into a gray morning sky with both girls asleep before we cleared the clouds.
Emma's head rested against my shoulder.
Chloe had her headphones on, staring through the window at nothing.
I watched the ground disappear beneath us.
There was a strange finality in leaving that house behind. Not because I wanted the marriage back. I didn't.
But because a home could hold years of ordinary things that didn't know they were becoming memories.
The dent in the hallway wall from when Chloe had learned to ride a bicycle indoors.
The height marks beside the kitchen doorway.
Emma's faded sticker collection on the refrigerator.
Carter's coffee mug.
My wedding photograph.
I had left all of it.
What I hadn't left behind were the questions.
During the divorce proceedings, Carter had acted almost bored whenever we discussed finances or custody.
But there had been one detail that bothered me.
A payment.
It appeared on a Sterling Corporation account associated with an old medical facility.
Oakfield Fertility Institute.
At first, I assumed it was an accounting error.
Then I saw it again.
And again.
Annual storage payments.
Always the same embryo identification number.
The number belonged to an embryo Carter and I had created years earlier.
A male embryo.
My lawyer had warned me not to jump to conclusions.
So I hadn't.
Instead, she subpoenaed the clinic records.
We had not delayed the divorce because there was no evidence that the embryo had ever left storage.
Still, I couldn't forget the letter Carter had shown me years earlier.
Destroyed.
That was what he had told me.
The remaining embryos had supposedly deteriorated.
He had said the clinic disposed of them.
I believed him.
Until I saw the payments.
I opened my handbag and removed the gray folder.
The girls were asleep.
I began reading the copies my attorney had given me.
The first documents were routine.
Then I reached the page containing the embryo identification number.
My pulse slowed.
Someone had paid to preserve it.
Someone had lied about its destruction.
Someone had wanted it kept alive.
I closed the folder.
At that moment, Chloe opened her eyes.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are we going to be okay?”
I turned toward her.
“Yes.”
“You don't sound sure.”
I smiled faintly.
“I am sure about you and Emma.”
She studied my face.
“Not about everything else.”
“No.”
That answer seemed to satisfy her more than a lie would have.
She leaned back against the seat.
“I hate when grown-ups say everything is fine when it isn't.”
I almost laughed.
“So do I.”
Three hours later, we landed in Seattle.
I switched my phone back on.
Thirty-one missed calls.
All from Carter.
There were also messages from Margaret.
Then another number.
Jessica.
I didn't answer any of them.
Instead, I called my attorney.
She answered immediately.
“Lauren?”
“I'm in Seattle.”
“Good. Don't speak to Carter yet.”
“Why?”
“Because Oakfield contacted me.”
I stopped walking.
“What did they say?”
“They found something.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
“What?”
“I don't want to discuss it over an unsecured call.”
My eyes moved toward the security personnel standing near the terminal entrance.
“Understood.”
“Come to the office as soon as you can.”
“I have the girls with me.”
“Bring them. I'll arrange somewhere private.”
I ended the call.
Chloe noticed my expression.
“Bad news?”
“Not necessarily.”
“That's another grown-up answer.”
I smiled despite myself.
“Let's get our bags.”
We had barely reached the pickup area when Carter called again.
This time, I answered.
“Why did you call thirty-one times?”
“Because you disappeared.”
“I told you I was leaving.”
“You didn't tell me where.”
“I wasn't required to.”
“You're taking my daughters across the country.”
“Our daughters.”
“Stop correcting me!”
I lowered my voice.
“The girls are safe.”
“I know they're safe.”
“Then what do you want?”
“I need to talk to you about the baby.”
“Why?”
“Because the clinic found an old record.”
My body went still.
“What kind of record?”
He hesitated.
“I don't know.”
“You're lying.”
“I'm not.”
“You know something.”
His breathing changed.
“Lauren, I swear to you, I didn't know this would happen.”
“Would happen?”
Silence.
Then he said, “Jessica's appointment was this morning.”
I glanced at my watch.
The timing was almost exact.
“What did the doctor say?”
“They asked whether she had undergone embryo transfer.”
I didn't speak.
Carter continued.
“She said no.”
“And?”
“The doctor pulled up another record.”
I felt cold despite the warm terminal.
“What record?”
“I don't know.”
“Carter.”
“I have to go.”
The call ended.
I stood there staring at the screen.
For the first time, I understood that whatever had happened at Oakfield was no longer merely a question about money.
It was connected to Jessica.
And somehow, Carter was frightened.
An hour later, my attorney placed a thick envelope on the conference table.
She didn't sit down.
“Before I show you this,” she said, “I need you to understand that none of this is speculation anymore.”
I looked at the envelope.
“What did they find?”
“My signature.”
“On what?”
“A release authorization.”
My stomach tightened.
“For the embryo?”
She nodded.
“The male embryo.”
I stared at her.
“I never signed that.”
“I know.”
She slid the document toward me.
My name was printed at the bottom.
Beneath it was a signature that looked enough like mine to fool someone who didn't know my handwriting.
But I knew it.
It wasn't mine.
“Who authorized the transfer?”
“We don't know yet.”
“Where was it transferred?”
She hesitated.
“To Jessica.”
I looked up.
“No.”
“That's what Oakfield's records indicate.”
“Jessica is pregnant.”
“Yes.”
“Are you saying—”
“I am saying the clinic believes the pregnancy resulted from the transfer of your embryo.”
The room seemed to narrow around me.
My lawyer opened another document.
“There's more.”
I stared at the page.
The embryo had been created from genetic material belonging to Carter and me.
The first embryo had become Chloe.
The second had become Emma.
A female embryo and a male embryo remained frozen.
One was now missing.
The male one.
I thought of Carter's words outside the courthouse.
Take the girls.
I have a son coming now.
For the first time, I understood how carefully that sentence had been constructed.
He hadn't simply been excited about a pregnancy.
He had known enough to call the child his son before the birth.
“Did Carter know?” I asked.
My lawyer didn't answer immediately.
“That is what we're trying to determine.”
I looked again at the forged signature.
“Someone needed my consent.”
“Yes.”
“And Carter's?”
“Yes.”
“Was his signature forged?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
The room went silent.
Carter had signed something.
The question was what.
My lawyer closed the folder.
“We're requesting the complete chain of authorization.”
“When will we get it?”
“Oakfield has already contacted federal investigators because the transfer involved medical fraud.”
I sat back.
“And Jessica?”
“She worked there once.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“Not as a physician. She was employed under her former married name in administrative operations.”
That detail settled somewhere deep inside me.
Carter hadn't simply met a pregnant woman.
He had met someone who knew the clinic.
Someone who understood the system.
Someone who knew there was an embryo belonging to us.
My phone began vibrating.
Carter.
I watched his name on the screen.
Then I answered.
“Tell me the truth.”
“Lauren—”
“Did you know about the embryo?”
Nothing.
“Carter?”
His silence answered before he did.
“I knew it was still stored.”
My eyes closed.
“And you let me believe it was destroyed.”
“I was going to explain.”
“When?”
“I wanted a son.”
The words came quietly.
Not angrily.
Not defensively.
As if he were admitting something ordinary.
I looked at my lawyer.
She was listening.
“You already had two children,” I said.
“My father wanted a boy.”
“And that mattered more than your daughters?”
Carter didn't answer.
I ended the call.
My lawyer slowly gathered the documents.
“What do you want to do?”
I looked toward the window.
Seattle's rain had begun tapping against the glass.
“Find out exactly what they did.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Clinic Found My Forged Consent, and Suddenly the Child Carter Called His Heir Was Connected to a Secret We Had Buried Years Ago
Five Minutes After Signing Away Eleven Years, I Heard the Sentence That Made Taking My Daughters Across the Country Feel Like the Only Choice
Part 2 of 12
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