Chapter 2 - THE EMBRYO I THOUGHT SHE GAVE ME
Caleb's fever began dropping shortly after midnight.
The preliminary diagnosis was a kidney infection.
Serious.
Treatable.
He would remain admitted until cultures clarified exactly what we were dealing with.
I should have felt relief.
Instead, I stood inside an empty consultation room while Emma stared at me like I had become someone she did not recognize.
“What do you mean you used an embryo?”
I sat.
She didn't.
“Sixteen months ago, I started looking into surrogacy.”
Her expression tightened.
“Why?”
The question surprised me.
“Because I wanted a child.”
“That part I understand.”
Emma's voice remained controlled.
“What I don't understand is why we're discussing an embryo we created together.”
“I was told it wasn't ours.”
“By whom?”
“My attorney.”
Her eyes closed.
Of course.
Lionel Ross had represented the Vale family for twenty-six years.
Emma never trusted him.
I had always called that paranoia.
Apparently the universe enjoyed jokes.
I continued.
“New Harbor told me one embryo remained available under my reproductive account.”
“What kind?”
“I thought donor oocyte.”
Her face became colder.
“Thought?”
I hated that word now.
“The paperwork said the genetic material was mine and an anonymous donor's.”
“Did you ask for the donor profile?”
“Yes.”
“What did it say?”
“Twenty-eight. Irish-American ancestry. Brown hair. Gray eyes. No major hereditary conditions.”
Emma laughed.
Not because anything was funny.
She was twenty-eight when we'd created the embryos.
Irish-American mother.
Brown hair.
Gray eyes.
I felt sick.
“You didn't recognize that?”
“There were no photographs.”
“That wasn't my question.”
“No.”
I looked at her.
“I didn't.”
The truth was uglier.
I hadn't wanted to.
Three years after Emma left, I wanted a child without reopening the grave of our relationship.
Lionel told me the remaining embryo was legally mine.
New Harbor confirmed documentation existed.
I signed.
A gestational carrier named Hannah Brooks carried Caleb.
I attended every appointment.
Heard the heartbeat.
Watched ultrasounds.
Held him when he was eight minutes old.
Never once imagined Emma existed inside the story.
She sat opposite me.
“Did they tell you I consented?”
“Yes.”
“To what?”
“Transfer of all parental and disposition rights.”
Her face went blank.
“I never signed that.”
Silence.
“Emma—”
“I signed destruction.”
“I know.”
“No.”
She pointed at me.
“You apparently didn't know enough.”
Fair.
“I was told you changed your instructions afterward.”
“After we stopped speaking?”
“Yes.”
“And that made sense to you?”
No.
Not really.
But Lionel had explained it.
Emma wanted no remaining legal connection to me.
She transferred the embryo because destruction paperwork created additional dispute.
It had sounded bureaucratic enough to be believable.
That was the problem.
I had allowed a document to replace a conversation.
“I should have called you.”
Emma looked away.
“Yes.”
No absolution.
Good.
“I believed the paperwork.”
“You also believed paperwork three years ago.”
That hit somewhere deeper.
The night everything ended.
The messages.
The warehouse address.
My brother bleeding.
Emma standing in my apartment while I accused her of giving a rival crew information.
She had denied it.
I hadn't believed her.
I told her to leave.
By sunrise, our engagement was dead.
“I was wrong then too,” I said.
Her eyes snapped back.
“You don't know that.”
Interesting.
After three years, she still didn't know what actually happened either.
Before I could answer, Dr. Patel entered.
“Mr. Vale?”
I stood immediately.
“Caleb?”
“Responding well. We're still waiting on cultures, but his vital signs are improving.”
My knees nearly failed.
Emma noticed.
Dr. Patel continued.
“He'll stay overnight, likely longer depending on results.”
“Can I see him?”
“Of course.”
I moved toward the door.
Then Emma said:
“Nicolas.”
I turned.
She looked exhausted.
“Do not investigate this through your people.”
I almost objected.
She continued:
“Lawyers.”
“Clinic records.”
“Independent counsel.”
“If there is something wrong here, I will not have evidence disappearing because someone decides protecting your family means controlling the truth.”
Three years ago I would've told her not to instruct me.
Tonight?
“Agreed.”
Her expression changed slightly.
Maybe because she hadn't expected it.
I left.
When I reached Caleb's room, his eyes were open.
Gray-blue.
Silver crescent.
He wrapped three fingers around one of mine.
May you like
I sat beside him.
For the first time since his birth, I looked at my son's face and wondered whether part of the woman I'd loved had been staring back at me all along.
