Chapter 6 - THE HUSBAND WHO WANTED ME BACK
Vincent arrived at my apartment that evening.
I saw him through the security camera before he knocked.
His coat was dusted with snow. His hair was disheveled, and he looked older than he had a week earlier.
I didn't open the door.
“Claire,” he called. “Please.”
I pressed the intercom.
“What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“Talk through Rebecca.”
“This isn't about the divorce.”
“Then it should be easy to explain to my attorney.”
He looked directly into the camera.
“I know about the pregnancy.”
The words struck harder than any accusation he could have made.
I stepped away from the intercom.
He knew.
How?
Had someone at the hospital told him? Had he seen the way I protected my abdomen? Had he guessed?
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
“Don't open the door,” she said immediately. “I'm on my way.”
“How does he know?”
“We're trying to find out.”
I returned to the intercom.
“Leave, Vincent.”
“I want to make sure you're safe.”
“You don't get to use that word.”
“Someone sent you a threat.”
My blood chilled.
“How do you know about that?”
He didn't answer quickly enough.
“Who sent it?” I demanded.
“I don't know.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know it exists?”
“I heard about it from someone at Harrington.”
I gripped the counter.
“You're still talking to the clinic?”
“Claire, listen to me. There are things you don't understand.”
“Then tell me.”
He lowered his voice.
“Vanessa is in danger.”
“Where is she?”
“I don't know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I've been trying to find her since this morning.”
“Why?”
“Because she took something from me.”
I stared at the intercom.
“What did she take?”
“Evidence.”
The word seemed to change the temperature of the room.
“What evidence?”
He looked over his shoulder toward the hallway.
“Please let me in.”
“No.”
“Claire, the people involved in this are not ordinary people. If you keep digging, they will come after you too.”
“You mean the people you paid with our money?”
His face tightened.
“I made mistakes.”
“You forged my consent.”
“I didn't forge anything.”
“Then why does the clinic say my authorization is on file?”
“Because I handled the paperwork.”
“Without my permission.”
He looked down.
For a moment, I thought he might finally tell me the truth.
Instead, he said, “I wanted a child.”
I closed my eyes.
“You had one with me. We lost that baby, and I wanted to try again. You said you needed time.”
“I needed you.”
“I was grieving too.”
“You disappeared into work.”
“You disappeared into another woman's bed.”
His face twisted.
“I know what I did.”
“No. You know what I've discovered.”
The elevator chimed behind him.
Rebecca stepped into view, followed by a uniformed police officer. She had contacted the authorities after Vincent revealed that he knew about the threat.
Vincent turned.
“This is ridiculous.”
The officer asked him to step away from the door.
Vincent obeyed, but his eyes remained fixed on me.
“Claire, I never wanted to hurt you.”
I believed that he had never wanted to face the consequences of hurting me.
That was different.
Rebecca waited until the officer had escorted him toward the elevator before entering my apartment.
“You did the right thing,” she said.
I sat down heavily.
“He knew about the pregnancy.”
“We'll investigate how he learned it.”
“He said Vanessa took evidence.”
“That may explain why she disappeared.”
“Or he could be lying.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the ultrasound photograph on the counter.
The tiny shape was barely visible.
I had spent the last week trying to protect a child from a world I had never imagined would become so dangerous.
Now I understood that I couldn't build a future by guessing which version of Vincent was telling the truth.
I needed evidence.
At ten that night, Rebecca called with an update.
Vanessa had been located.
She was at a women's shelter outside the city, where she had checked in under her mother's maiden name. A counselor had contacted police after Vanessa reported being followed.
She was alive.
And she wanted to meet.
The following morning, we drove to the shelter.
Vanessa sat in a small interview room with a blanket around her shoulders. She looked exhausted, but when she saw me, she stood.
“I owe you the truth,” she said.
She handed Rebecca a sealed envelope.
Inside was a second recording device, a printed email chain, and a handwritten note.
The email chain contained messages between Vincent and Marlene Shaw, the embryology technician.
One message was dated two months before Vanessa's first appointment.
The records must show a viable embryo before the transfer. The source code is the only thing that matters. Make sure the patient never receives the original laboratory report.
Vincent had signed the email.
Marlene's reply was shorter.
You said the biological material was already secured. I will not be responsible if that isn't true.
Rebecca read the exchange twice.
“Secured from where?” she asked.
Vanessa shook her head.
“I don't know.”
She reached for the second recording device.
“But I think the answer is on this.”
I looked at her.
“What is it?”
“Vincent's original recording. The part that was missing.”
She pressed play.
And this time, when Vincent's voice emerged from the speaker, he wasn't talking about the clinic.
May you like
He was talking about a woman whose name I had not heard in years.
My mother's.
