Chương 10
Claire turned.
“What is wrong with you?”
“I have weird ears.”
“You do.”
“I wanted to see if you got them.”
“Did I?”
“No. Thank God.”
Claire laughed.
Her father smiled.
Then his expression softened.
“I understand why biology matters to people.”
Claire stopped laughing.
“I do too.”
“You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.”
He scratched a mosquito bite.
“I also think people confuse wanting something with being entitled to it.”
Claire looked toward the kitchen window where her mother was washing dishes.
“What would you do?”
“If I were you?”
“Yes.”
“Terrible idea.”
“Dad.”
“I’d probably punch him.”
“That’s why I asked Mom first.”
“She said one thing at a time.”
“She did.”
“She’s annoying.”
“Yes.”
They sat for another minute.
Robert said, “What do you want your kid to know about this someday?”
Claire looked at him.
That was the first useful question anyone had asked.
Not what do you want from Ethan.
Not what legal remedy.
Not what statement.
What do you want your kid to know?
Claire slept badly.
The next morning she called Maya.
“I want to file.”
“Okay.”
“But I don’t want a press strategy.”
“That may not be fully in your control.”
“I know. I’m saying I’m not doing this to destroy him.”
“Good.”
“I want the medical impersonation documented. I want the clinic process examined. I want an order preventing him from accessing my accounts or medical information. And I want the apartment issue resolved.”
“We can work with that.”
“I also want to understand his parental rights before the baby is born.”
Maya paused.
“That will require specialized family counsel.”
“Find one.”
“I will.”
“And Maya?”
“Yes?”
“I’m not releasing the donor consent online.”
Another pause.
“Good.”
Claire had spent days imagining it.
One upload.
One document.
Proof that Ethan knew.
The internet would reverse itself again.
People would call him a liar.
She would be vindicated.
For perhaps six hours.
Then strangers would dissect the donor agreement, her reproductive choices, her child’s conception, her medical information.
Her baby would have a digital footprint before developing fingerprints.
No.
Ethan had turned the pregnancy into public evidence.
Claire would not help him.
The legal complaint became public anyway.
Court filings did that.
But Maya redacted aggressively and asked the court to seal medical exhibits.
Some requests were granted.
Some were not.
News stories appeared.
The phrase attempted unauthorized donor substitution became attached to Ethan’s name.
The Cole family company placed him on leave.
Margaret did not call Claire for two weeks.
Claire noticed.
She also noticed she missed the calls.
That irritated her.
At twelve weeks, Claire returned to work in person.
Natalie met her in the lobby holding two coffees.
One black.
Claire nearly hugged her for remembering.
“You look normal,” Natalie said.
“Disappointing?”
“Very. I expected dramatic sunglasses.”
“I own dramatic sunglasses.”
“Tomorrow.”
They entered the elevator.
A junior employee stopped talking when Claire stepped in.
Claire pretended not to notice.
On the ninth floor, Natalie said quietly, “People will be weird for a while.”
“I know.”
“They’ll get bored.”
“Eventually.”
“And some will always think they know you because they watched sixteen seconds of your worst night.”
Claire looked at her.
“What do I do with those people?”
“Ask them for money. You work in development.”
Claire laughed.
It helped.
Work was not normal.
But it was work.
Emails.
Budgets.
A donor who wanted his name moved three inches higher on a plaque.
A board member angry about parking validation.
Claire found the small stupidity of ordinary problems comforting.
She could solve a plaque.
She could call facilities about parking.
In October, the clinic investigation concluded.
A written report acknowledged that the caller had successfully passed security questions but failed biometric or in-person identity verification because none was required for donor-profile changes at the time.
The clinic had prevented the actual substitution only because a nurse manually compared the revised request against earlier consent documents.
The nurse’s name was Andrea Lopez.
Claire asked whether she could thank her.
The clinic initially discouraged direct contact.
Eventually Andrea agreed to a brief phone call.
Claire had imagined saying something meaningful.
Instead, when Andrea answered, Claire said, “Hi. I don’t know how to do this without sounding strange.”
Andrea laughed.
“That makes two of us.”
Claire thanked her.
Andrea said, “I was doing my job.”
“You did more than the process required.”
“I was confused by the file.”
“Still.”
A pause.
Andrea said, “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Claire looked down.
“I’m getting there.”
Afterward, she sat at her desk for ten minutes without working.
No dramatic revelation came.
She simply felt grateful that somewhere in a building she had barely noticed, a woman doing an ordinary job had looked twice.
Ethan’s case moved slowly.
Real investigations were slow.
Lawyers requested documents.
People delayed.
Arguments arose over access, intent, damages, residency, property.
Ethan denied making the impersonation call personally.
His attorneys suggested an employee could have used the corporate card.
No employee admitted it.
The virtual phone account had been created using an IP address connected to Ethan’s office, but several people had access to the network.
The civil case did not become the clean public reckoning Claire sometimes imagined late at night.
It became paperwork.
Expensive paperwork.
Meanwhile, Ethan filed a petition seeking recognition as the intended parent of Claire’s unborn child based on the donor agreement he had signed.
When Maya told Claire, she was silent for nearly a minute.
“He wants parental rights?”
“Yes.”
“After publicly implying the baby wasn’t his.”
“Yes.”
“After trying to replace the donor.”
“Yes.”
“Can he do that?”
“He can ask.”
Claire stood and walked to the window.
“Does he want the baby?”
“I can’t answer that.”
“His lawyer must have said something.”
“His filing says he entered assisted reproduction with the intent to parent any resulting child.”
Which was true.
May you like
That was the painful part.
Before the party, before the impersonation evidence, before the lies became visible, Ethan had attended appointments.
