Chapter 9 - THE CHOICE THAT COULD DESTROY US BOTH
The photograph arrived the next morning in a padded envelope delivered to Rebecca's office.
It showed a glass specimen container on a laboratory counter. A handwritten label was visible, but the image was too blurred to identify the contents.
On the back, Vincent had written the same sentence Vanessa had read over the phone.
The original belongs to her daughter.
I stared at the photograph until I felt dizzy.
“What does he mean by original?” I asked.
Rebecca placed it inside a protective sleeve.
“We need an expert to examine it. We can't infer the contents from a photograph.”
“Everything leads back to my mother.”
“Everything leads back to a chain of records that may have been manipulated. That distinction matters.”
She was right.
I was beginning to understand how easily grief could turn uncertainty into certainty.
I wanted my mother to be connected to the mystery because it would explain why Vincent had gone to such extraordinary lengths.
But wanting an explanation didn't make one true.
The police interviewed Vincent again.
He admitted paying Marlene to alter the clinic records, but he claimed he believed the embryo transfer had been legally arranged. He denied knowing that the original authorization was invalid.
He also admitted that he had moved money from our joint account into VMR Holdings to pay for Vanessa's treatment.
He said he had intended to repay it.
He said he had been trying to build a family.
He said a great many things.
None of them changed the fact that he had made decisions about my body, my medical records, and our shared finances without my consent.
Rebecca advised me not to contact him.
I lasted until that afternoon.
I met him in a public conference room at his attorney's office, with Rebecca seated beside me.
Vincent looked thinner. His wedding ring was gone.
For a moment, seeing his bare hand hurt more than I expected.
“You look tired,” he said.
“So do you.”
“I miss you.”
I looked at him.
“Do you miss me, or do you miss the life you had before I learned the truth?”
His eyes filled.
“Both.”
At least it was honest.
“Why did you do it?” I asked. “Not the money. Not the paperwork. Why did you keep going when you knew I hadn't agreed?”
He stared at the table.
“After we lost the baby, I felt helpless. I couldn't fix what happened. I couldn't make you stop hurting. Every time you cried, I felt like I had failed you.”
“So you found someone else.”
“I thought I could separate the two parts of my life.”
“You thought you could have a wife who trusted you and a woman who gave you a child.”
He didn't deny it.
“I was selfish.”
“Yes.”
“I thought if Vanessa became pregnant, I could finally tell you everything. I imagined we'd get through the anger. I thought you'd eventually understand.”
“Understand what? That you made me part of a decision I never made?”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds like you believed my consent was an obstacle.”
He looked up sharply.
“I never wanted to take anything from you.”
“You took the truth. You took our money. You took away my ability to make an informed choice about my own life.”
His eyes lowered.
For the first time, I saw him as he was rather than as the man I had loved.
Not a monster.
Something more ordinary and, in its own way, more frightening.
A man who had convinced himself that his desires were more important than anyone else's boundaries.
“I can't forgive you,” I said.
He nodded slowly.
“I know.”
“And I'm not coming back.”
He swallowed.
“I know that too.”
I stood.
Then he spoke again.
“There is one thing I haven't told you.”
I stopped.
“The original laboratory report wasn't the only document in the vault.”
Rebecca immediately leaned forward.
“What else was there?”
Vincent looked at her, then at me.
“A letter. From your mother.”
My heart lurched.
“What letter?”
“I never read all of it.”
“Why do you have a letter from my mother?”
He rubbed his face.
“Your mother gave it to me shortly before she died. She asked me to keep it safe until you were ready.”
“Ready for what?”
“I don't know.”
“You've had it for seven years.”
“I know.”
Rebecca's voice sharpened.
“Where is it?”
“Not with the report.”
“Where, Mr. Moretti?”
He hesitated.
“Somewhere safe.”
I laughed bitterly.
“You have a remarkable definition of safe.”
He accepted the insult without protest.
“I'll give it to you,” he said. “But I need you to understand something. Whatever that letter says, I didn't create this entire situation alone.”
The room went still.
“What does that mean?” Rebecca asked.
Vincent looked directly at me.
“Someone else knew about the records before I did. Someone who had access to your mother's medical history and to the clinic.”
“Who?”
He shook his head.
“I don't have proof.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because the first time I saw the name on the archived record, I recognized it.”
“What name?”
He reached into his coat and placed a folded piece of paper on the table.
It contained a single handwritten name.
Dr. Elaine Foster.
The research compliance officer who had reviewed my mother's records.
Rebecca took the paper.
“We will turn this over to the investigators.”
Vincent nodded.
“I expected you would.”
I looked at the man I had once trusted with every secret I possessed.
“Is there anything else?”
His answer came quietly.
“Yes.”
He looked at my abdomen.
“Whatever happens between us, I want to be there for our child.”
I felt my throat tighten.
“You don't get to use our baby as a way back into my life.”
“I know.”
“You'll have whatever rights and responsibilities the law establishes. Nothing more, nothing less.”
He nodded.
I walked out without looking back.
In the car, Rebecca placed the folded paper inside the evidence folder.
“We need to be careful,” she said. “A name on a piece of paper is not proof of wrongdoing.”
“I know.”
“And Vincent may be trying to redirect attention.”
“I know.”
She studied me.
“Then what are you thinking?”
I looked out at the snow-covered streets.
“I'm thinking that my mother trusted people who were supposed to help her. And someone may have used that trust to do something she never agreed to.”
I pressed a hand against my abdomen.
“I'm going to find out what happened. But I'm not going to let anyone tell me what the truth is before the evidence does.”
For the first time in weeks, I felt something stronger than fear.
I felt determination.
That evening, the police confirmed they would interview Dr. Foster.
They also located a second storage account linked to the private laboratory that had received the original specimen.
The account had been opened seven years earlier.
Its owner was not Vincent.
May you like
It was registered to a woman whose name I had never heard.
And the account had been accessed again just three days ago.
