Chương 7
No less familiar.
“You waited.”
“Yes.”
“And people lived inside the lie while you waited.”
Bennett met her eyes.
“Yes.”
Victoria folded Miriam’s letter.
She suddenly felt tired of men explaining delay as caution.
The first break came not from a subpoena but from Lauren.
She was reviewing her own records with an independent embryologist and found an old billing statement that listed her original embryo identification number.
It did not match Noah’s transfer record.
She called Victoria at seven on a Sunday morning.
“I think my embryo existed.”
Victoria sat up in bed.
“What?”
“My embryo. The one they told me they transferred. It had a different cryo number.”
“Lauren—”
“If they put yours in me, where did mine go?”
The question widened the disaster again.
They met that afternoon with Bennett and both attorneys.
Northstar’s error had not involved only Victoria’s embryos.
The manual reconciliation suggested at least four cryostorage labels had been displaced during the same forty-eight-hour period.
Four.
Possibly more.
Mara swore for the first time since Victoria had hired her.
Lauren stared at Bennett.
“Could my biological child be out there?”
“We don’t know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I won’t lie to you.”
“You already did. Maybe not to me personally, but your clinic did.”
George stood behind her, one hand on her shoulder.
Victoria watched Lauren struggle with a new grief while Noah colored at the end of the conference table with a blue crayon.
A week earlier, Victoria might have felt that Lauren’s pain somehow diluted her own.
Now it did the opposite.
The circle of harm had expanded.
Nobody had been given a clean role.
There was no thief and no rightful owner.
There were adults who had made decisions and children who had not.
Northstar’s insurer offered private mediation.
The proposed settlement was enormous.
Victoria’s attorney read the number twice.
In exchange, Northstar wanted confidentiality, no admission of wrongdoing, cooperation in a sealed investigation, and restrictions on public discussion intended to protect all potentially affected families.
Daniel thought she should consider it.
That alone nearly made her reject it.
But Mara said, “Don’t decide because he wants it. That’s still letting him control your decision.”
Victoria looked at the settlement papers.
“What happens to the other families if I sign?”
“The investigation continues privately.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Litigation could make identities public. It could also force broader disclosure. Or not. Courts can seal records.”
“Could Northstar keep this contained?”
“They will try.”
“For the children’s privacy.”
“For the company’s survival,” Mara said. “Those interests sometimes overlap.”
Victoria hated that answer because it was true.
That night she visited Noah at Lauren’s apartment.
It was the first time Lauren allowed her inside.
The brownstone was narrower than it looked in photographs. A stroller occupied half the entry. Tiny shoes were piled beneath a bench. The kitchen had one cabinet that did not close properly.
Victoria noticed George fixing it with a screwdriver while muttering at the hinge.
“You own a screwdriver?” he asked when he saw her watching.
“Yes.”
“You know which end to hold?”
“Usually.”
He grunted.
It was, she understood, progress.
Noah was sick with a mild cold and sleepy enough to accept Victoria sitting near him on the rug.
He pushed a toy airplane across the floor.
“Plane.”
“Yes.”
“Big plane.”
“Yes.”
Lauren came from the kitchen carrying a cup of tea.
“He’s been obsessed since the airport.”
Victoria looked at her.
“Sorry.”
Lauren sat on the sofa.
“About the airport?”
“Among other things.”
Noah crashed the plane into Victoria’s knee.
“Boom.”
“Very safe airline.”
“Boom.”
Lauren smiled.
Then the smile faded.
“I keep thinking about whose face he has.”
Victoria looked at the child.
“He has Daniel’s chin.”
“Unfortunately.”
Lauren laughed.
Victoria was surprised by how much she liked the sound.
Lauren rubbed her hands together.
“I used to think he had my grandmother’s nose.”
Victoria did not answer.
“I showed everybody pictures. I’d say, look, that’s Grandma Ruth. Same nose.”
Her eyes stayed on Noah.
“Now I feel stupid.”
“You weren’t.”
“I invented connections.”
“You were his mother. You looked for yourself in him.”
Lauren’s head lifted.
The word mother hung between them.
Victoria did not take it back.
Lauren’s eyes filled.
“Thank you.”
Victoria looked down at the toy airplane.
“I’m still angry with you sometimes.”
Lauren blinked.
“I know that isn’t fair.”
“I’m angry with you too.”
That surprised Victoria.
“For what?”
“For existing.”
Victoria laughed once.
Lauren did too.
“See? Not fair.”
“No.”
“But there it is.”
They sat quietly while Noah pushed the plane beneath a chair and became furious when it did not emerge where he expected.
Victoria got onto her knees and reached under the chair.
Her blouse caught on a loose screw.
Lauren said, “Careful.”
Too late.
A small tear appeared near the hem.
Victoria looked at it.
Lauren winced.
“Was that expensive?”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.”
Victoria handed Noah the airplane.
He said, “Again.”
“No.”
“Again.”
“No.”
“Again.”
Victoria looked at Lauren.
“He negotiates like his father.”
Lauren laughed so hard she had to cover her mouth.
Three days later, they found Patient 6442.
The identification came through a court-supervised release to the attorneys, not directly to Victoria.
Her name was Claire Donovan.
At the time of treatment, Claire had been thirty-six and married to Samuel Donovan. She had transferred her obstetric care to a practice in Greenwich after a confirmed pregnancy.
The attorneys located a birth record consistent with the timeline.
A girl.
Amelia Donovan.
Two years, five months old.
Victoria read the name in Mara’s office.
Amelia.
Alive.
A photograph would have been easy to find.
Mara told her not to search.
Victoria waited until she was alone.
Then she searched.
Claire Donovan’s social media accounts were private.
Samuel’s were not.
There was a photograph from a charity 5K.
A man holding a little girl on his shoulders.
Blond curls.
A green jacket.
The child was laughing.
May you like
Victoria zoomed in.
There was no scientific basis for recognizing yourself in a photograph.
