Chương 10
“Yes.”
“That is not a decision you make alone.”
“I know.”
“No, you know now.”
He looked at me.
“I knew then too.”
The honesty hurt more than any excuse could have.
“Did they use it?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
His voice cracked.
“I never authorized them to use Andrew’s sample.”
“Then why was it there?”
“Because Dad wanted it available.”
“And you let him.”
“Yes.”
“What happened after it arrived?”
Christopher swallowed.
“There was a mix-up.”
Every person in the room went still.
Priya said, “What kind of mix-up?”
He looked at me.
“I don’t know exactly.”
“You were there.”
“I knew something happened.”
“With our embryos?”
“I don’t know.”
“With the sperm?”
“I think so.”
I moved toward him.
“What did the clinic tell you?”
He backed up one step.
“That one of the labels had been compromised during processing.”
My hands went numb.
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“They said nothing had been used.”
“Who said?”
“A lab director.”
“Name.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Try.”
“I don’t remember.”
I could feel years of appointments collapsing into that sentence.
Every failed cycle.
Every apology Christopher accepted from me when I blamed my body.
Every night I wondered what defect the doctors had missed.
“You let me think it was me.”
“No.”
“You watched me think it.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You knew enough.”
He looked wrecked now.
Good.
I hated myself for thinking it.
Then Priya’s phone vibrated.
She read the screen and looked at Daniel.
“Lena sent the archived invoice.”
Daniel moved beside her.
They both read it.
Priya’s expression changed first.
“What?”
I asked.
She looked up.
“The second Meridian release wasn’t sent to Pacific Reproductive Associates.”
Christopher frowned.
“But the reimbursement record says—”
“The record was altered.”
Daniel took the phone.
“The original destination is listed here.”
Michelle stood.
“Where?”
Priya looked at Evelyn.
Then at Christopher.
“Desert Bloom Reproductive Center in Tucson.”
Evelyn gripped the back of a chair.
Michelle’s face drained of color.
“That’s where Richard sent me.”
Nobody spoke.
Priya enlarged the invoice.
“There’s a recipient code.”
Michelle shook her head slowly.
“No.”
“What?”
“That code.”
She stepped closer.
“I’ve seen it before.”
Christopher stared at her.
“Where?”
Her eyes moved to the twins.
“On my embryo storage forms.”
I felt every muscle in my body tighten.
Michelle took one step backward.
“No.”
Evelyn whispered her name.
Michelle looked at Christopher, horror replacing anger.
“The second release wasn’t for Victoria.”
She clutched Noah closer.
“It was for me.”
Christopher stared at Michelle as though the words had moved her several feet away from him.
“What do you mean it was for you?”
Michelle shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
“You just said you did.”
“I know the code.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It was on every storage form I signed.”
She looked at Priya.
“Can I see it?”
Priya handed her the phone.
Michelle studied the invoice for a long time.
Emma made a small sound against Evelyn’s shoulder, and Noah’s fingers curled into the edge of Michelle’s blouse.
“This is my account,” Michelle said.
Her voice had gone flat.
“The recipient code, the facility number, even the last four digits of the storage contract.”
Christopher moved closer.
“When?”
Priya answered.
“Six weeks after Richard died.”
Michelle closed her eyes.
“I hadn’t transferred anything then.”
Christopher frowned.
“You said the embryos were created two years ago.”
“They were.”
“But this transfer was later.”
“Yes.”
“So what was being transferred?”
Michelle opened her eyes.
“I don’t know.”
Her voice broke.
“I thought all of Andrew’s sample had already been moved when the embryos were created.”
Evelyn said, “Could Richard have kept some back?”
“Yes.”
Michelle swallowed.
“He told me there was more than one vial.”
Christopher’s face tightened.
“Of course there was.”
He sat down again.
“Dad always liked options.”
No one answered.
The bitterness in his voice belonged to a conversation that had started decades before any of us entered the room.
Daniel pulled out a second folder.
“There’s another problem.”
Christopher laughed without humor.
“There’s always another problem now.”
Daniel ignored him.
“The transfer wasn’t billed under Richard’s name.”
“Whose was it?”
Daniel looked at Christopher.
“Yours.”
The room went quiet again.
Christopher stood so quickly the chair legs scraped the floor.
“No.”
Daniel set the paper down.
“Your digital authorization is attached.”
“I told you I signed things for Dad.”
“This authorization is dated after his death.”
Christopher stared at the page.
I watched his face.
He had been defensive all afternoon.
This was different.
He looked genuinely confused.
“I didn’t do this.”
Priya said, “Then someone used your credentials.”
Christopher looked at me.
“For once, can you believe me?”
The question irritated me because part of me did.
“I believe you’re confused.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“It’s what I can give you.”
He looked away.
Michelle handed Priya’s phone back.
“Can we call Desert Bloom?”
“Not and expect them to discuss patient records over the phone,” Priya said.
“They won’t tell us anything.”
“They may tell you what you’re entitled to request.”
Michelle looked down at the baby in her arms.
“I don’t even know what to ask.”
“For your complete record.”
Priya’s voice softened.
“Every consent, transfer, storage log, lab report, and authorization tied to your account.”
Christopher said, “And mine.”
“No.”
Michelle’s answer came immediately.
He stared at her.
“You don’t get access to my medical records.”
“If one of those children is mine—”
“That doesn’t give you access to everything.”
“They’re my kids.”
“You don’t know that.”
The sentence stopped him.
Michelle looked sick the moment she said it.
Christopher’s expression hardened.
“That’s what you wanted, right?”
“What?”
“Uncertainty.”
“No.”
“You built the whole thing around uncertainty.”
“I built nothing.”
“You transferred two embryos from two possible fathers.”
“I was told which embryos they were.”
Christopher froze.
I leaned forward.
“What do you mean?”
May you like
Michelle looked at me.
“I was told embryo A was Andrew’s and embryo B was Christopher’s.”
