Chapter 8: The Pregnancy Before Mine
For a moment, the words meant nothing.
The first baby.
I was seven months pregnant. Daniel and I had endured years of treatment, and every medical record I'd received described the same sequence: failed attempts, another cycle, then the successful transfer that had finally given us hope.
There had never been a first baby.
I looked at Patricia.
“What are you talking about?””
She covered her mouth.
Daniel sprang to his feet.
“Mom, stop talking!””
Robert grabbed his son's shoulder.
“You will not silence another person in this house.””
Patricia sank into the armchair, shaking her head.
“I thought the records had been destroyed.””
My stomach tightened.
“What records?””
She looked at me, and for the first time, I saw something beyond guilt in her expression.
Grief.
“Eleanor became pregnant once,” she whispered.
“Years before the accident.””
Daniel stared at the floor.
I waited.
Patricia continued.
“She miscarried. It devastated her. She spent months recovering, and afterward, she became determined to preserve her chances of having a family.””
“Why wasn't I told?””
“Because the pregnancy was part of her medical history, and she wanted it kept private.””
“That doesn't explain the second transfer.””
Patricia's eyes filled with tears.
“After Eleanor died, the clinic reviewed her stored reproductive material. There was an embryo connected to that earlier treatment. The clinic had kept it under a separate reference number.””
I looked at Daniel.
“Is that the embryo they transferred into me?””
“I don't know,” he whispered.
“You keep saying you don't know. You knew about the incomplete records. You knew about Project Aurora.
You knew my signature was being used without my knowledge. How much did you actually know?””
He sank onto the sofa.
“Enough to know I should have stopped everything.””
The answer was so honest that it frightened me more than another denial.
Emily sat beside me.
“Sarah, we need to stop trying to solve this through Daniel. We need the original medical records.””
I nodded.
My obstetrician's office had already agreed to see me that afternoon. Rebecca was arranging for a specialist to review the fertility documentation.
I wasn't going to let my husband's family determine what I was allowed to know about my own pregnancy.
But before I could leave, Daniel's phone began vibrating.
He glanced at the screen.
Then he stood and walked toward the kitchen.
Robert followed him.
I heard my husband's voice through the half-open door.
“No, I haven't transferred it yet.””
A pause.
“I said I'm handling it.””
Another pause.
“You told me the deadline was tomorrow.””
His voice dropped.
Then I heard him say, “If she finds out about the first transfer, everything is over.””
I rose from the chair.
Emily caught my hand.
“Don't go alone.””
We approached the kitchen together.
Daniel turned when he saw us.
He ended the call immediately.
“Who was that?”” I asked.
“A business associate.””
“What's his name?””
“Sarah, please.””
“What's his name?””
He looked at the floor.
“Martin Vale.””
Robert's expression changed.
“Martin Vale? The private investor?””
Daniel nodded.
Robert stepped backward as if he'd been struck.
“That's the man who bought the development company.””
“What does that mean?”” I asked.
Robert looked at his son.
“It means Daniel didn't just borrow money from an ordinary lender. Martin Vale has been acquiring distressed properties across Georgia. If your father's house is part of the agreement, it could be transferred again before you have a chance to challenge the documents.””
My throat tightened.
“Then we stop the transfer.””
“That's what the lawyer is for,” Emily said.
Daniel shook his head.
“You don't understand. Vale has copies of everything. The clinic records.
The authorization forms. The property agreement. If he releases them, I could lose my job, my reputation, everything.””
I looked at him.
“You're still worried about your reputation?””
He flinched.
“I'm trying to explain why I did what I did.””
“No. You're explaining why you think you deserve sympathy.””
He stared at me.
For the first time, he didn't argue.
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
“Mrs. Carter, I've received a response from the clinic's records department,” she said.
“They've confirmed that your file contains a discrepancy between the original treatment plan and the procedure actually performed.””
I gripped the counter.
“What discrepancy?””
“The clinic's electronic record lists one transfer, but a separate laboratory log refers to an earlier procedure under a different authorization code.””
My mouth went dry.
“An earlier procedure involving me?””
“That's what we're trying to establish. The clinic says the original embryology records are stored separately and require additional review.””
“Can they give us the records today?””
“They're arranging an urgent review. However, I need you to understand that a discrepancy does not, by itself, prove misconduct. We need the underlying documents and an independent medical assessment.””
“Understood.””
I ended the call and looked at Daniel.
“Did you ever tell me about an earlier procedure?””
He shook his head.
“Because I didn't know about it.””
I studied his face.
“Are you lying?””
“No.””
For once, I couldn't tell.
That frightened me.
At the clinic, a patient coordinator met Emily and me in a private consultation room. My obstetrician had arranged for the fertility specialist on duty to review the records with us.
Dr. Bennett wasn't available.
Instead, we met Dr. Priya Shah, who listened without interrupting as I explained the anonymous messages, the embryo record, and the property agreement.
When I finished, she closed the folder.
“Mrs. Carter, I can't determine what happened without reviewing the original records. But I can tell you that any procedure involving reproductive material should be supported by appropriate consent and documentation.””
“Can you tell whether my baby is healthy?””
“Your current prenatal assessments can help us evaluate your baby's development. The disputed paperwork is a separate issue, although we should establish the medical history accurately.””
She ordered a review of the relevant records and arranged for my obstetrician to examine me.
After the appointment, Emily and I sat in the parking lot while she called Rebecca with the update.
I watched families enter the clinic. A young couple walked past us, laughing as they carried a folder of paperwork. The woman had one hand over her stomach.
I wondered how many people had sat in this same parking lot, believing that science and trust would help them build a family.
Then I wondered how many had discovered that someone else had made their decisions for them.
My phone buzzed.
An email from an unfamiliar address.
The subject line read: *Eleanor Carter — Original Transfer Record.*
The attachment contained a scanned page from the clinic's laboratory log.
At the top was Eleanor's name.
Below it were two embryo reference numbers.
One had been marked as stored.
The other had been marked as transferred.
I zoomed in on the date.
It was dated three years before Eleanor's death.
My hands began to tremble.
There was no recipient name on the page, only a patient code.
But beneath the code, someone had written a note in blue ink.
Recipient pregnancy confirmed. Family notified.
I read it twice.
Eleanor had been pregnant before she died.
But the record suggested that an embryo connected to her treatment had been transferred to someone else.
Someone who had become pregnant.
I called Rebecca immediately.
“Where did this come from?””
“I haven't seen that document before,” she said.
“Please forward it to me without altering the original email.””
I did.
Then I called the clinic's records department and gave them the reference number.
The woman on the phone went quiet.
“Mrs. Carter,” she said carefully, “that reference number is associated with a restricted file.””
“Why?””
“I can't disclose the details without authorization.””
“Can you tell me whether the patient was me?””
Another silence.
Then she said, “I need to speak with my supervisor.””
The call ended.
Emily stared at me.
“Sarah, what if that record has nothing to do with your current pregnancy?””
“Then we'll find out.””
“And if it does?””
I looked at the clinic building.
“Then someone has been hiding the truth for a lot longer than I thought.””
My phone rang again.
This time, it was Dr. Bennett.
I answered immediately.
“Doctor, I need to ask you about my fertility records.””
His voice sounded strained.
“Sarah, I heard there was an incident at your gender reveal.””
“That's not what I called about.””
“I think you should come to my office tomorrow.””
“Why not now?””
A long silence followed.
Then he whispered, “Because I need to tell you something before Daniel's family finds out I've spoken to you.””
My heart began pounding.
“What?””
He took a shaky breath.
“Your husband wasn't the person who requested the first transfer.””
I gripped the phone.
“Who was?””
May you like
And Dr. Bennett answered with a name I never expected to hear.
“Your own father.””
