Chương 11
He had held Claire after the failed first attempt.
He had assembled a crib catalogue.
He had argued about names.
He had wanted to be a father.
At least some part of him had.
Claire could not simply erase that because another part had behaved monstrously.
“What do I do?” she asked.
“You talk to family counsel.”
The family attorney, Rebecca Chen, did not speak in reassuring absolutes.
She explained that intended parentage in assisted reproduction could be legally significant depending on the circumstances and governing law, but Ethan’s alleged misconduct complicated everything.
“This is not something I would predict casually,” she said.
“What does he want?”
“His filing requests joint legal recognition after birth and eventual parenting time.”
Claire laughed once.
It came out badly.
“He tried to manipulate which sperm created this child.”
“Yes.”
“And now he says intent matters more than genetics.”
Rebecca looked at her.
“That contradiction may matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“I know.”
Claire pressed a hand against her stomach.
At seventeen weeks she could feel nothing yet.
“Can I stop him from ever seeing the baby?”
Rebecca did not answer immediately.
Claire appreciated that.
“We can argue for whatever restrictions the facts support. But I want you to separate two questions. What outcome does fear want today? And what outcome could you defend to your child years from now?”
Claire disliked the question because it resembled her father’s.
Good questions often did.
Ethan requested mediation.
Claire refused.
Then accepted three weeks later.
Not because she forgave him.
Because litigation was turning her pregnancy into a calendar of deadlines.
Mediation took place in December in a conference room with bad coffee and no holiday decorations.
Claire was twenty-two weeks pregnant.
Ethan looked older.
He had lost weight.
His suit jacket hung differently.
Claire hated that she noticed.
They sat across from each other with lawyers on both sides and a mediator named Susan who spoke softly without sounding weak.
For the first hour, the lawyers did most of the talking.
Medical consent.
Digital access.
Apartment property.
Parental intention.
Potential settlement.
Then Susan asked if Claire and Ethan would speak privately with counsel present but without argument.
Claire almost said no.
Then Ethan said yes too quickly.
That annoyed her enough to agree.
Susan looked at Ethan.
“What do you want?”
He glanced at Claire.
“My child.”
Claire’s body stiffened.
Susan said, “Be more precise.”
“I want to be her father.”
Claire looked up.
“Her?”
Ethan froze.
The sex had not been public.
Claire had learned two weeks earlier.
A girl.
Only her parents and two friends knew.
“How do you know?”
Ethan looked at his attorney.
His attorney looked unhappy.
Claire felt cold.
“Ethan.”
He rubbed his jaw.
“My mother told me.”
Claire turned to Maya.
Margaret knew from Denise.
Claire had allowed Denise to tell her after Margaret sent a Christmas gift.
That meant Margaret had told Ethan.
The betrayal was small compared with others.
It still hurt.
Susan said, “We can address information boundaries separately.”
Claire stared at Ethan.
“You don’t get to call her your child while treating her conception like a genetics project.”
His face tightened.
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I know what I did.”
“Do you?”
He looked down.
For once, no instant defense came.
“I tried to use Julian’s donor sample.”
The room became still.
His attorney touched his arm.
Ethan shook him off.
“I’m not discussing the phone call,” he said.
Claire almost laughed.
Even confession had boundaries.
He continued.
“I thought if the donor was related to me, then I could...”
He stopped.
Susan waited.
Claire did too.
Ethan rubbed his thumb across the edge of the table.
“My father died when I was twenty-three.”
Claire knew that.
Heart attack.
Fifty-eight.
Ethan almost never spoke about him.
“He was terrified of being forgotten,” Ethan said. “Everything was about the company name, the family name, what survives you. I hated it. Then I got the diagnosis.”
His voice remained controlled, but Claire saw the effort.
“I started thinking exactly like him.”
Claire said nothing.
“When you agreed to a donor, I was relieved. Then I hated myself for being relieved. Then every time I looked at the profiles, I kept thinking that some stranger was going to be in my house forever without ever being there.”
Claire’s hand rested over her abdomen.
“That does not explain pretending to be me.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“I know.”
“You said that before.”
“I don’t know what else to say.”
“Try the truth.”
His eyes met hers.
“I wanted to make the choice for you because I was afraid you would say no.”
Claire felt tears rise and hated them.
Not because she was moved.
Because the sentence was finally simple.
No mythology.
No dynasty.
No pressure.
Fear and control.
“I would have said no,” she replied.
“I know.”
“That was my right.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that now.”
“Yes.”
“Why now?”
He looked toward the window.
“Because there is nothing left to control.”
Claire almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
Then she remembered the wine running down her face.
The call made in her name.
The hidden email rule.
“You’re wrong,” she said.
He looked back.
“You’re still trying to control whether you become her father.”
His face tightened.
“I signed the papers.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted her.”
“You wanted a child.”
“I want this child.”
“You don’t know her.”
“Neither do you.”
The cruelty of the line seemed to surprise even him.
Claire stared.
He closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t.”
Susan intervened quietly.
“We should pause.”
Claire stood.
“I need the bathroom.”
She cried there.
Not because Ethan’s line was entirely false.
That was why it hurt.
She did not know her daughter yet.
She knew movements on screens, nausea, the first flutter three nights earlier like a finger tapping from inside.
She knew hope.
Fear.
Plans.
She did not know the person.
Motherhood was also an intention before it became a relationship.
May you like
That complicated her certainty.
When Claire returned, Ethan had moved his chair farther from the table.
