Chapter 2: The Secret Behind the Twins
For several seconds, I thought I had misunderstood her.
“What?””
Madison wiped her cheek.
“The twins. They aren't Grant's biological children.””
I looked at the document on the table.
“Then whose are they?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“You expect me to believe that?””
“No. I expect you to understand why I'm terrified.””
Noah stepped closer.
“Maybe you should explain everything before making another accusation.””
Madison nodded.
She opened her handbag again and removed a second envelope.
“This is from the fertility clinic.””
I frowned.
“What fertility clinic?””
“Westlake Reproductive Center. Manhattan.””
I recognized the name.
It was the same clinic where I had undergone my third embryo transfer.
My stomach tightened.
“Why were you there?””
Madison took a breath.
“Grant told me he wanted children. He said he had a genetic issue that might make natural conception difficult. He also told me you had failed several times because of your own medical problems.””
My fingers curled.
“He told you that?””
“Yes.””
“He told you my medical history?””
“He told me everything.””
I almost laughed.
Eleven years of private medical appointments, painful procedures, and intimate conversations had apparently become office gossip.
“What happened at the clinic?””
Madison sat down.
“Grant arranged for me to undergo fertility treatment. He said it would protect the pregnancy and make sure the babies were healthy.””
I stared at her.
“Using his sperm?””
“That was what he told me.””
“And?””
She slid the first document toward me.
“I found out yesterday that the donor identification on my original treatment file doesn't match Grant's.””
I picked it up.
The paper was covered with medical terminology and laboratory codes.
One line had been highlighted.
*Donor specimen: W-1847.*
“Who is W-1847?””
“I don't know.””
“Did you ask?””
“Yes. The clinic refused to tell me without a formal investigation.””
“Then how did you get this?””
Madison looked toward the window.
“Grant's mother.””
That caught my attention.
“Evelyn?””
“She came with me to the appointment. She told the doctor to release the records to her because she was paying for everything.””
I slowly lowered the document.
“Why would Evelyn have access to your medical records?””
Madison gave a bitter laugh.
“Because she paid for the treatment. She chose the doctor. She even selected the hospital where I was supposed to deliver.””
I looked at her swollen abdomen.
“And you agreed to all of that?””
“I was in love with Grant.””
Her voice cracked.
“I thought we were building a family.””
For a moment, I saw something familiar in her expression.
The same desperate hope I had carried into my marriage.
The same willingness to mistake control for protection.
But sympathy didn't erase what she had done.
“You knew he was married,” I said.
Madison lowered her eyes.
“Yes.””
“You knew about the fertility treatments.””
“Yes.””
“And you still slept with him.””
She nodded.
“I did.””
I placed the papers back on the table.
“Then you'll have to forgive me if I don't feel particularly sorry for you.””
“I don't expect you to.””
She reached into her bag and removed a photograph.
It showed a man standing outside a medical building.
I recognized him immediately.
Dr. Samuel Hargrove.
He had supervised my embryo transfers.
He had also been the doctor who explained why my first two attempts had failed.
“What is this?””
“Grant's mother met him several times before my treatment.””
I stared at the photograph.
“When?””
“Before I became pregnant.””
Madison turned the picture over.
There was a handwritten date.
Three weeks before her first appointment.
And beneath it, a short note.
Confirm the original donor records have been destroyed.
My mouth went dry.
“Where did you get this?””
“From Evelyn's study.””
I looked at her.
“You stole it?””
“She told me to leave the townhouse yesterday. I went into her study to get my passport, and I found a folder with my name on it.””
She opened another envelope.
Inside were copies of emails.
One had been printed.
The sender was Dr. Hargrove.
The recipient was Evelyn Whitmore.
The subject line read:
*CONFIDENTIAL — PATIENT TRANSFER*
I read the message.
Mrs. Whitmore, as requested, the transfer documentation has been amended. The patient will not receive the original donor information. All remaining correspondence should be directed through your office.
My hands began to shake.
“Why would he do that?””
Madison whispered, “Because I think someone else selected the donor.””
I looked up.
“Who?””
She didn't answer.
Instead, she handed me the final page.
It was a laboratory report.
The report contained a list of genetic markers.
At the bottom was a reference number.
W-1847.
Beside it was a second identification code.
C-0912.
My breath caught.
I knew that code.
It was the number printed on my own embryo transfer paperwork.
I had seen it hundreds of times.
I had memorized it during those lonely months when every appointment became another desperate attempt to become a mother.
I looked at Madison.
“Where did you get this?””
“From the clinic's patient portal. It was accidentally attached to my file.””
My heartbeat became painfully loud.
“That's impossible.””
“What?””
“This is my treatment code.””
Madison stared at me.
“You're sure?””
I nodded slowly.
Then I remembered something.
During my third embryo transfer, Dr. Hargrove had told me that the clinic needed to replace the original embryo because of a laboratory issue.
He had said it was routine.
He had said the replacement was genetically compatible.
He had said I should trust the process.
I had signed the consent form without asking questions.
Because I trusted him.
Because I trusted Grant.
Because I wanted a child so desperately that I had been willing to believe everyone who promised me one.
“Claire?”” Noah said.
I didn't answer.
My eyes were fixed on the document.
There was another line beneath the reference number.
*Related patient file: C-0912.*
And below it:
*Embryo custody authorization: Evelyn Whitmore.*
I felt the room tilt.
Evelyn had controlled the medical records.
She had controlled the clinic payments.
She had controlled the donor selection.
And somehow, my embryo transfer file was connected to Madison's pregnancy.
I looked at her.
“Did Grant know?””
Madison shook her head.
“I don't think so.””
“You're telling me he paid fifty million dollars to divorce me because he believed you were carrying his twins?””
“Yes.””
“And you don't even know whose children you're carrying?””
She started crying.
“No.””
I turned toward Noah.
“Can you get me an attorney?””
“I already know one.””
“Someone who handles medical fraud?””
His expression hardened.
“Yes.””
He reached for his phone.
But before he could make the call, Madison's phone rang.
The name on the screen was Evelyn Whitmore.
Madison stared at it.
Then she answered on speaker.
“Madison? Where are you?””
“I'm with Claire.””
A sharp silence followed.
Then Evelyn spoke.
“Bring those documents home immediately.””
Madison's face went pale.
“No.””
“Don't be stupid. You have no idea what you're carrying.””
I stepped forward.
“Perhaps you should explain that to me, Evelyn.””
The older woman's voice changed.
“Claire.””
“Hello, Evelyn.””
“You need to stay out of this.””
“Why is my embryo transfer number on Madison's medical records?””
No answer.
Then Evelyn said something that made my blood run cold.
“Because the child you lost was never supposed to be yours.””
The call ended.
Madison began sobbing.
And Noah quietly took the documents from my hands.
Because he had recognized something I hadn't.
The laboratory reference number wasn't the only thing printed on the report.
May you like
There was a name.
*Parker Genetic Services.*
