Chapter 2: The Missing Consent Form
I arrived at Northbrook Fertility Center at 9:15 the following morning.
The waiting room looked exactly as I remembered.
Cream-colored walls. Soft instrumental music. A coffee machine in the corner. A shelf filled with pregnancy magazines that I had once been too heartbroken to read.
A young couple sat near the window.
The woman was holding her husband's hand while staring at an ultrasound photograph.
I looked away.
Seven years of my life had passed in this building.
And somehow, I had never understood what had happened during the final three weeks.
“Emily?””
Dr. Harris stood near the reception desk.
He looked older than I remembered.
His expression was serious.
“Thank you for coming.””
He led me into a small consultation room and closed the door.
A thick file sat on his desk.
“Before we begin,” he said, “I want you to understand that I can't discuss another patient's confidential medical information without the proper authorization.””
“I understand.””
“But I can explain your own records.””
He opened the file.
Several documents were arranged in chronological order.
My blood tests.
Embryology reports.
Medication schedules.
Then he turned to a page marked September 14.
“Do you remember this date?””
I studied it.
“Yes. It was supposed to be our final consultation before another transfer.””
“Correct.””
He pointed to a paragraph.
“This is the record of the embryos created during your previous IVF cycle.””
I remembered that cycle.
Five embryos had been created.
Two were unsuitable for transfer.
Three had been frozen.
I swallowed.
“I thought all three were still stored here.””
Dr. Harris nodded.
“That was the information given to you.””
“Was it wrong?””
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he turned to another page.
The heading read:
*CRYOPRESERVATION AND EMBRYO DISPOSITION AUTHORIZATION.*
My name appeared at the top.
Beneath it was Daniel's name.
And at the bottom were two signatures.
I stared at them.
“That's not mine.””
Dr. Harris leaned forward.
“Are you certain?””
“Absolutely.””
I pointed to the signature.
The letters looked similar to my handwriting, but the final stroke was wrong.
I always crossed the letter T with a long line.
This signature didn't.
“Who signed this?””
“The document indicates that both partners consented to the transfer of one stored embryo to a separate treatment arrangement.””
My chest tightened.
“Transfer where?””
He folded his hands.
“An outside reproductive treatment provider.””
I stared at him.
“Who authorized that?””
“According to the record, both you and Daniel.””
“I didn't.””
Dr. Harris nodded slowly.
“That's why I wanted you to come in.””
He opened another folder.
“This is a copy of the original electronic consent history. It shows when the document was created, when it was amended, and which account approved the final version.””
I leaned closer.
There was a date.
September 16.
And beside it, a note.
*Secondary recipient information updated.*
My eyes moved down the page.
A name appeared.
Vanessa Reed.
For a moment, I couldn't breathe.
“Vanessa?””
Dr. Harris didn't look away.
“That's the name recorded in the recipient information.””
I pushed the paper away.
“No. That can't be right.””
“Emily, I need you to remain calm.””
“Calm?””
My voice rose.
“You're telling me that an embryo created during my IVF treatment was transferred to another woman?””
“The records indicate that an embryo was released under a transfer authorization. Whether that authorization was valid is something that requires further investigation.””
I stood so quickly that my chair scraped against the floor.
“Daniel said we had no viable embryos.””
Dr. Harris lowered his eyes.
“That isn't what the embryology report says.””
I felt the room tilt.
“Then why did he tell me that?””
He didn't answer.
I paced toward the window.
Daniel had looked me in the eyes and told me that there was nothing left.
He had blamed me for our failed treatments.
He had made me sign divorce papers while believing that my body had destroyed his dream of becoming a father.
And all along, one of our embryos might have been somewhere else.
“Did you know about Vanessa?”” I asked.
“I saw the recipient name in the administrative record, but I wasn't the physician responsible for authorizing that outside arrangement. I didn't have the complete chain of documentation at the time.””
“Who was?””
He hesitated.
“Dr. Leonard.””
I remembered the name.
Dr. Leonard was the clinic's medical director. He had occasionally attended our consultations when Dr. Harris was unavailable.
“Can I speak to him?””
“He's no longer practicing here.””
“Convenient.””
Dr. Harris didn't argue.
Instead, he slid another document toward me.
“This is the original consent form that should have been attached to your file.””
I looked down.
There was a section titled:
*GENETIC MATERIAL AND REPRODUCTIVE USE.*
Beneath it were several boxes.
One was checked.
Authorized use by named recipient.
I read the line again.
Then I saw something that made my stomach turn.
The recipient was Vanessa Reed.
And the date beside her name was two days before my divorce was finalized.
I sat down.
“Did Daniel know?””
Dr. Harris looked at me for a long moment.
“His signature appears on the associated authorization record.””
I pressed my fingers against my lips.
There were a thousand questions.
Why would Daniel do this?
Why would he take something created from our treatment and arrange for another woman to receive it?
Had Vanessa been involved before our marriage ended?
Had she known?
And most importantly, had anyone asked me?
“Doctor, I need the truth. Is there any possibility that the embryo was transferred without my consent?””
He nodded.
“Based on the discrepancies in the records, that possibility cannot be dismissed. I have already referred the matter to the clinic's compliance department.””
I looked at him.
“Why didn't anyone tell me?””
“Because the discrepancy was discovered during a later internal review. I can't speak for the decisions made by the previous administration.””
I felt sick.
A knock interrupted us.
A woman in a dark blue suit entered carrying a laptop.
“Dr. Harris, I'm Rachel Morgan, the clinic's compliance director.””
She introduced herself and sat opposite me.
“Ms. Carter, I understand you have questions about the embryo disposition record.””
“I have more than questions.””
She nodded.
“I understand.””
Rachel opened her laptop.
“There are several inconsistencies that we're reviewing. However, I want to show you one additional document.””
She turned the screen toward me.
It was a digital audit report.
A series of entries appeared.
The first showed that my patient account had been accessed at 8:42 p.m. on September 14.
The second showed a consent document uploaded at 9:17 p.m.
The third showed an electronic approval at 9:23 p.m.
I stared at the screen.
“I wasn't at the clinic that night.””
“We know,” Rachel said.
“I was home.””
“Your appointment and treatment records confirm that you weren't physically present.””
“Then who approved it?””
Rachel hesitated.
“The account was accessed using credentials assigned to an authorized administrative user.””
“Whose?””
She scrolled down.
A name appeared.
Dr. Leonard.
My hands began to shake.
“Was he allowed to sign for me?””
“No.””
“Then why does the document have my signature?””
Rachel closed the laptop halfway.
“That is one of the issues under investigation.””
I swallowed.
“Was Vanessa pregnant before my divorce?””
Rachel exchanged a glance with Dr. Harris.
“We cannot verify another patient's medical timeline without her authorization.””
I laughed without humor.
“Of course.””
Then Rachel said something unexpected.
“There is one more detail you should know. The embryo transfer record lists a second physician's approval.””
“Who?””
She turned the laptop around again.
The second approval had been entered at 10:06 p.m.
The name beneath it was Daniel Carter.
Not as a physician.
Not as a witness.
As the intended genetic parent.
I stared at it.
My ex-husband hadn't merely known about the transfer.
He had apparently been involved in arranging it.
I walked out of the clinic carrying copies of every document they were legally able to provide.
Outside, the November wind cut through my coat.
I sat in my car for nearly twenty minutes.
Then my phone rang.
Daniel.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
But I answered.
“Hello?””
“Emily. I heard you visited the clinic.””
My blood ran cold.
“How?””
“Vanessa knows someone who works there.””
I gripped the steering wheel.
“Why was my embryo transferred to her?””
Silence.
Then Daniel sighed.
“Don't make this into something ugly.””
“Something ugly? You used an embryo from our treatment?””
“It's not as simple as that.””
“Did you know about the transfer?””
He spoke more quietly.
“Emily, I wanted a child. You knew that.””
I closed my eyes.
“You told me we had nothing left.””
“We didn't have anything left for you.””
The words hit harder than I expected.
“What does that mean?””
“Vanessa and I were able to move forward. That's all you need to know.””
I struggled to breathe.
“Did you forge my signature?””
He didn't answer.
Instead, he said:
“You should be careful about what you're accusing people of. The last thing you need is another expensive legal battle.””
Then he hung up.
I stared at the phone.
A moment later, a text arrived.
It was from Vanessa.
I heard you've been asking questions. Please don't ruin our happiness. The baby deserves a peaceful beginning.
I read it twice.
Then I noticed the photograph attached.
It showed Vanessa standing in a nursery, one hand resting on her pregnant belly.
Daniel stood behind her, smiling.
On the wall was a framed sign.
*LITTLE CARTER — COMING SOON.*
But the photograph wasn't what frightened me.
It was the date printed in the corner.
September 18.
Two days after the transfer authorization.
May you like
And beneath the photograph, Vanessa had written another message.
Daniel says you already know whose baby this is.
