Chapter 4 - Connor Knew Ethan Was My Embryo Before He Was Born
Melinda had receipts.
Literally.
Texts.
Emails.
Photographs.
Connor had deleted his copies.
Melinda had not.
One message was dated six weeks before the embryo transfer.
CONNOR: If Kirsten ever finds out, we're done.
Melinda:
She thinks it didn't make it.
Connor:
Keep it that way.
I read the exchange until the words blurred.
Another.
MELINDA: I still don't feel right about the signature.
CONNOR: Haskins said it's handled.
Another.
MELINDA: It's her embryo.
CONNOR: It was ours. I paid for half the IVF.
That sentence nearly made me throw the phone.
It was ours.
Therefore he believed he could give it away.
Like furniture.
Like a joint checking account.
Like property divided after a marriage.
Except we were still married when he did it.
Rebecca looked furious.
“That's devastating.”
“For him?”
“For several people.”
Connor had known.
Not everything.
He believed the sperm used was his.
Haskins and Melinda had hidden the donor issue from him after a second sample confirmed no viable sperm.
But Connor knowingly participated in transferring an embryo created from my egg into another woman without my consent.
He had signed forms.
Helped coordinate appointments.
Paid a portion of the fees through an account I didn't monitor.
Then came home to me.
He slept beside me.
While my embryo grew inside my best friend.
I had never hated anyone before.
I thought I had.
I hadn't.
Real hatred is physically exhausting.
It burns.
I spent three days furious.
Then something strange happened.
I got tired.
Not forgiving.
Not accepting.
Just tired.
Rebecca warned me:
“Don't let anger make custody decisions.”
“I know.”
“You don't need to punish Connor through Ethan.”
“I know.”
“And you don't need to rescue Ethan from Melinda merely because you hate what she did.”
That one hurt.
“Do you think she's a good mother?”
Rebecca leaned back.
“That's what the child-welfare evaluator will determine.”
“I asked what you think.”
“I think people can commit terrible acts and still love their children.”
I knew that professionally.
Parents were complicated.
Humans were complicated.
Melinda had committed an unforgivable violation against me.
That didn't automatically mean she neglected Ethan.
Every available record suggested the opposite.
Pediatric visits.
Vaccinations.
Developmental screenings.
Safe home.
No abuse.
No neglect.
Ethan was thriving.
That mattered more than my revenge.
Connor, however, became increasingly unstable.
He posted online.
Nothing explicit enough to violate court orders.
But obvious.
Imagine finding out everyone you trusted lied to you.
Interesting.
Coming from him.
Then:
Fathers matter, even when courts don't understand biology.
Again, interesting.
He had spent years telling me biology defined a “real family.”
Now biology threatened him, and suddenly love mattered more.
Hypocrisy has remarkable timing.
The first temporary custody hearing was brutal.
Connor's lawyer argued he was Ethan's presumed father because he was married to Melinda at birth and had acted as father for a year.
Legally, that mattered.
Rebecca did not dispute his emotional bond.
Neither did I.
Then Connor's lawyer made a mistake.
He attacked me.
He suggested I was exploiting biological maternity because I regretted prioritizing my career.
My entire body went still.
Rebecca slowly stood.
“What did you just say?”
The lawyer tried to soften it.
Too late.
Rebecca introduced evidence of Connor's texts.
It was ours. I paid for half the IVF.
The judge read them.
Then looked at Connor.
“Mr. Fleming, did you know the embryo transferred to your current wife was created using Dr. Sinclair's egg?”
Connor's attorney stood.
“Your Honor—”
“Sit.”
He sat.
Connor answered:
“Yes.”
“Did Dr. Sinclair consent?”
“I believed she had.”
Rebecca displayed:
Keep it that way.
The judge looked at him.
“You believed she consented, yet you instructed your affair partner to keep the transfer hidden?”
Connor's face reddened.
“I was confused.”
The judge's expression was almost pitying.
“No. You were deceptive.”
The temporary ruling preserved Ethan's primary residence with Melinda.
Connor received supervised visitation pending further evaluation.
And me?
The judge did something unexpected.
She ordered a gradual contact plan.
Not custody.
Contact.
If I wanted it.
Supervised by a child-development specialist.
I sat in my car afterward for thirty minutes.
Rebecca joined me.
“You don't have to do it.”
“I know.”
“You can wait.”
“I know.”
“What are you afraid of?”
I stared through the windshield.
“That he'll look at me and feel nothing.”
“He's one.”
“I know.”
“He feels something about people who give him crackers.”
I laughed through tears.
Then cried harder.
“What if I love him?”
Rebecca's voice softened.
“That seems likely.”
“What if that destroys me?”
“It might hurt.”
“That isn't reassuring.”
“I'm a lawyer.”
“Fair.”
Our first meeting occurred at a child-development center.
Neutral room.
Soft carpet.
Toys.
No courtroom.
No lawyers.
Melinda brought Ethan.
When she saw me, she looked terrified.
I probably did too.
The specialist, Dr. Lauren Price, explained everything.
“No forcing contact.”
“Okay.”
“Let him lead.”
“Okay.”
“Do not expect recognition.”
“I don't.”
I did.
A little.
Melinda placed Ethan on the carpet.
He immediately crawled toward a wooden train.
I sat six feet away.
For ten minutes, nothing happened.
Then he looked at me.
I smiled.
He stared.
I held out a block.
He crawled over.
Took it.
Crawled away.
I almost cried.
Ridiculous.
A block.
Five minutes later, he came back.
This time he handed me the stuffed giraffe.
I looked at Melinda.
She covered her mouth.
“What?”
I whispered.
“He doesn't give Geoffrey to anyone.”
Of course the giraffe had a name.
Geoffrey.
I held it.
Ethan climbed into my lap.
Just like that.
No dramatic music.
No magical recognition.
He wanted his giraffe.
I had his giraffe.
So he climbed into my lap.
But when his little body settled against me, something happened inside my chest.
A door opened.
Not because genetics are magic.
Because he was warm.
Small.
Trusting.
And alive.
Alive.
The embryo I mourned was alive.
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn't sob.
Ethan looked up.
Then touched my nose.
I laughed.
He laughed too.
Melinda cried openly.
I looked at her.
For the first time since this began, we weren't enemies.
Not exactly.
We were two women looking at the same child and realizing the adults had created a disaster he did not deserve.
That didn't erase what she did.
Nothing could.
But it clarified what came next.
May you like
Ethan first.
Always.
