Chapter 3: The Woman Who Knew Everything
I didn't sleep that night.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the signature on the consent form.
My signature.
Or someone else's version of it.
At 6:30 the following morning, I called a lawyer.
Her name was Margaret Ellis, a family and reproductive-rights attorney recommended by a former colleague.
I brought every document I had.
She spent nearly an hour reading through the records without saying much.
Finally, she removed her glasses.
“Emily, this is potentially very serious.””
“Could someone legally transfer an embryo without my consent?””
“That depends on the applicable law, the ownership and consent documents, the circumstances of creation, and the treatment agreements. But what you're showing me raises substantial questions.””
“Can I stop them from using it?””
Margaret turned to the audit report.
“First, we need to establish exactly what happened. Second, we need to preserve every electronic record. Third, we need to determine whether the embryo was transferred, whether it resulted in a pregnancy, and what permissions were actually given.””
I looked at her.
“They're having a baby shower next Saturday.””
She paused.
“Who is?””
“My ex-husband and his new wife.””
Margaret leaned back.
“Are you planning to attend?””
I looked at the photograph Vanessa had sent.
“Yes.””
“Emily, I don't recommend confronting them without preparation.””
“I'm not going to fight with them.””
“Then what are you going to do?””
I opened my handbag and removed the cream invitation.
“I'm going to let them tell everyone how this pregnancy happened.””
Margaret studied me.
“And if they lie?””
I looked at the forged signature.
“Then I'll ask them to explain the paperwork.””
Over the next four days, Margaret sent formal preservation notices to the clinic.
She requested the original consent documents, access logs, embryology records, communication history, and every version of the authorization form.
She also contacted the clinic's compliance department.
Meanwhile, I received messages from people I hadn't spoken to since the divorce.
A former neighbor wrote:
Congratulations to Daniel! He must be so happy to finally have a family.
A woman from Daniel's office posted a photograph of Vanessa's baby shower decorations.
Someone had written beneath it:
Some men just need to find the right woman.
I closed the app.
It was astonishing how easily people accepted Daniel's version of events.
He had told them that our marriage ended because I couldn't have children.
He had presented himself as a man who had waited patiently for seven years before finally finding happiness.
Nobody knew about the nights I had spent crying in hospital bathrooms.
Nobody knew how many times he had refused to attend appointments.
And nobody knew that the pregnancy he was celebrating might be connected to an embryo created during our marriage.
On Thursday afternoon, Margaret called.
“Emily, we have something.””
I sat up.
“What?””
“The clinic has located an additional document. It appears to be a transfer instruction signed electronically by Daniel.””
My throat tightened.
“Does it have my signature?””
“No. That's the interesting part.””
She paused.
“There's a section stating that you were unavailable to provide a second authorization, and that Daniel was acting under an existing joint-consent arrangement.””
“But I never gave him permission to do that.””
“That's exactly what we need to establish. The clinic has also identified an amended document uploaded later.””
“Amended how?””
“Your name was added to the authorization field.””
I closed my eyes.
“Can they prove when?””
“Yes. The digital history suggests the amendment happened after the original transfer instruction was entered.””
My hands went cold.
“So someone added my name afterward?””
“That's what the records appear to show. We still need independent forensic verification.””
I looked toward the invitation on my table.
“What about Vanessa?””
Margaret hesitated.
“There's another complication. The recipient paperwork contains a statement that she understood the embryo's genetic origins and the conditions under which it was being released.””
I felt something break inside me.
“She knew?””
“It appears she may have known the embryo originated from your treatment cycle. But we can't establish precisely what she was told without reviewing the underlying communications.””
I ended the call and sat motionless.
For seven years, Vanessa had been a stranger.
Or so I had believed.
Then I remembered something.
The clinic's old waiting room.
The woman in the blue coat.
The coffee machine.
The afternoon when I had sat crying after another failed cycle.
Vanessa had approached me.
She had offered me a tissue.
“I'm sorry,” she had said.
“I know how hard this can be.””
At the time, I had thought she was another patient.
Now I wondered if she had already been involved with Daniel.
I called the clinic again and asked for the date of Vanessa's first recorded visit.
The receptionist said she couldn't provide another patient's private information.
I expected that answer.
But I also knew something else.
Vanessa had voluntarily sent me that pregnancy photograph.
And she had invited me to the celebration.
If she wanted me to stay quiet, she had chosen a strange way to ask.
That evening, I received another message.
This time, it wasn't from Daniel or Vanessa.
It was from an unfamiliar number.
Emily, my name is Laura Bennett. I used to work in embryology at Northbrook Fertility Center. I think you should know what happened to your embryos.
I read the message three times.
Then I replied.
How do you know about my case?
The answer came almost immediately.
Because I was the technician who handled the storage records.
My heart began racing.
Can we meet?
She sent an address for a small coffee shop near the hospital.
The following afternoon, I arrived fifteen minutes early.
Laura was already there.
She looked to be in her late forties, with tired eyes and a brown scarf wrapped tightly around her neck.
She stood when she saw me.
“Emily?””
“Yes.””
She looked toward the window before sitting down.
“I wasn't sure you'd come.””
“Why did you contact me?””
Laura folded her hands.
“Because I saw your name in the records, and I recognized what happened.””
I leaned forward.
“Tell me.””
She glanced at the waitress, waited until she walked away, and then lowered her voice.
“Your original treatment cycle produced three embryos that were considered suitable for freezing.””
“I know.””
“One was transferred during your final treatment attempt. Two remained in storage.””
I nodded.
“That's what I was told.””
Laura opened her handbag and removed a small notebook.
“I kept some personal notes because the records didn't make sense to me.””
She turned it toward me.
There were dates and reference numbers.
One entry was circled.
September 16.
“On that day, I received an instruction to prepare one of your stored embryos for release.””
I gripped the edge of the table.
“Who gave the instruction?””
“Dr. Leonard.””
“Was Daniel there?””
“No. But someone from the administrative department said he had already approved the arrangement.””
“And my consent?””
Laura looked uncomfortable.
“That was the problem.””
“What do you mean?””
“The consent documentation wasn't complete.””
I stared at her.
“So you refused?””
“I raised a concern.””
“What happened?””
She swallowed.
“I was told the authorization would be corrected before the embryo left the facility.””
My stomach tightened.
“Was it?””
“I don't know. I was removed from that particular case the following morning.””
“Removed?””
“Another technician took over. I was told not to interfere.””
I felt sick.
“Laura, did you see the embryo leave?””
She nodded.
“Yes.””
“Was it transferred to Vanessa?””
Laura looked down at her coffee.
“I saw the recipient's name on the transport paperwork.””
I could barely speak.
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“I didn't know you hadn't consented. The paperwork was supposed to be complete. And by the time I realized something was wrong, I had already left the clinic.””
“Why did you leave?””
Her expression changed.
“I was dismissed three months later.””
“Because of this?””
She didn't answer directly.
Instead, she reached into her handbag again.
This time, she removed a folded sheet of paper.
“There's something else. I don't know if it was a mistake or deliberate, but the embryo identification number on the transfer record was unusual.””
I unfolded the paper.
A string of letters and numbers appeared.
At the bottom, Laura had written another reference number.
“What's this?””
“The original storage identifier.””
I compared the two.
They were almost identical.
Except for the final two digits.
“Does that matter?””
Laura looked directly at me.
“It might matter more than anything else.””
I frowned.
“Why?””
“Because the transfer record doesn't appear to match the embryo that was originally assigned to your treatment cycle.””
The coffee shop seemed suddenly very quiet.
I looked at her.
“Are you saying they transferred the wrong embryo?””
“I'm saying the identification records need to be independently checked.””
“Then whose embryo did Vanessa receive?””
Laura took a breath.
“That's what I've been trying to find out.””
Before I could ask another question, her phone buzzed.
She looked at the screen.
Her face went pale.
“What's wrong?”” I asked.
She turned the phone toward me.
An email notification appeared.
The sender was Northbrook Fertility Center.
The subject line read:
*NOTICE OF CONFIDENTIALITY INVESTIGATION — PRIOR EMPLOYEE RECORD ACCESS.*
Laura quickly locked her phone.
“They know I contacted you.””
“Can they do anything to you?””
“I don't know.””
She stood, gathering her handbag.
“Emily, listen to me. Don't let Daniel convince you this was a simple paperwork mistake. There were too many people involved.””
“Who else?””
She hesitated.
“Someone from the clinic's executive office.””
“Who?””
Laura leaned closer.
“Vanessa's father.””
I froze.
“Her father?””
“He was involved in the financial arrangements. He made several calls about the transfer.””
I remembered Vanessa's pregnancy photograph.
The beautiful nursery.
The gold lettering.
The smiling couple.
Suddenly, another possibility occurred to me.
Perhaps Daniel hadn't simply found another woman who could give him a child.
Perhaps there had been an arrangement long before our divorce.
I grabbed Laura's sleeve.
“Why would Vanessa's father care about my embryo?””
Laura looked frightened.
“Because he wasn't just a patient's relative. He was one of the clinic's major investors.””
She walked away before I could ask anything else.
I remained at the table, staring at the notebook she had left behind.
That night, Margaret called again.
“Emily, I received a response from the clinic.””
“What did they say?””
“They've agreed to an independent review of the records. But there's something we need to discuss immediately.””
I sat on the edge of my bed.
“What?””
“The clinic says the final authorization package contains a document that neither you nor Daniel has mentioned.””
“What document?””
“A genetic parentage and reproductive-use consent form.””
I stopped breathing.
“What's on it?””
“That's the problem. The clinic hasn't released the complete copy yet. They've requested additional legal review because the document contains information concerning the pregnancy.””
I stared at the wall.
“Can we get it before the baby shower?””
“We're trying.””
Then Margaret said something that made my blood run cold.
“Emily, the document appears to identify a third person as a genetic parent.””
I gripped my phone.
“A third person?””
“Yes.””
“Who?””
“I don't know yet. But the clinic has confirmed that the name appears on the original laboratory record, not just the amended consent form.””
I looked at the invitation.
The baby shower was tomorrow.
Daniel had booked a private room at the Hawthorne Club.
He had invited friends, relatives, and several people from his office.
And he had specifically asked me to attend.
For the first time, I wondered whether he had invited me because he wanted to humiliate me.
Or because he believed I would never discover the truth.
At 10:47 p.m., my phone lit up.
A message from Vanessa.
Tomorrow will be a beautiful day. I hope you don't make things uncomfortable for everyone.
Then another message arrived.
Daniel wants you to see the final consent form. He says you'll understand why he had to leave you.
I stared at the screen.
Before I could respond, she sent a photograph.
It showed a document resting on a white table.
The top was partially covered, but the heading was visible.
*FINAL GENETIC PARENTAGE AND REPRODUCTIVE CONSENT.*
Beneath it were three names.
Daniel Carter.
Vanessa Reed.
And a third name.
I zoomed in.
My hands began trembling.
Because the third name belonged to someone I knew.
Someone who had been part of our marriage from the very beginning.
May you like
Someone Daniel had always insisted was incapable of having children.
And tomorrow, in front of everyone, I was finally going to learn why Vanessa was carrying a baby connected to our seven years of fertility treatments.
