Chapter 3 - The Fractured Truth
I spent the next three days in a haze of disbelief.
Every move, every breath, felt like a betrayal.
Vanessa was seven months pregnant with a baby that was technically mine, but the law didn't see it that way.
The medical malpractice was clear, but the custody battle that would ensue would be an international tragedy.
Daniel came into the office, his face drawn.
“Claire, you need to sleep.”
“I can’t,” I whispered, staring at the printouts of the hospital records.
“Daniel, look at this.”
I showed him the file, the confirmation of the transfer, the clerical adjustment.
He stared at the screen, his face turning an ashen grey.
“This is impossible.”
“It’s here,” I said. “It’s documented.”
“She’s carrying a part of our life, and the clinic… they sold it to her to cover up their mistake.”
He collapsed into the chair, burying his face in his hands.
“We have to go to the police.”
“No,” I said. “The police won’t understand. This is a medical catastrophe that would be tied up in litigation for the next twenty years.”
“If we reveal this, they’ll take both babies into state custody to determine the legality of the transfer.”
“We’ll lose them both.”
I realized then why Vanessa had come to my house that night.
She wasn't trying to hurt me.
She was trying to see if I was a fit mother for her baby, the one she believed was rightfully hers by biology, even if I was the one who had suffered through the IVF process.
She was a mother protecting her child, even if her methods were rooted in madness.
I picked up the phone.
I didn't call the police.
I called Vanessa.
She answered on the first ring, her voice surprisingly calm.
“I know,” I said.
Silence stretched between us, thick and loaded with the history of our broken family.
“Do you?” she asked, a small tremor in her tone.
May you like
“I know about the transfer.”
“Meet me,” she whispered. “Not in court. Not with lawyers. Just us.”
