Chapter 2 - The Truth in the Medical File
For a moment, nobody moved.
Martin sat in the leather examination chair, his expensive watch resting against the armrest. His expression shifted from amusement to irritation.
“Tell me what?” he asked.
Dr. Samuel Whitmore glanced at me.
I folded my hands in my lap.
“I'm afraid there's been a misunderstanding,” the doctor said. “Mrs. Voss was informed of the results of your previous fertility evaluation five years ago. You authorized us to communicate with her.”
Martin slowly turned toward me.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“And you never told me?”
I looked directly at him. “You told the doctor to call me. You never asked me what he said.”
His jaw tightened.
“That's not what I asked.”
“No,” I replied. “It isn't.”
Dr. Whitmore cleared his throat. “Mr. Voss, your records show a permanent condition resulting from your childhood surgery. Your reproductive specialist explained that natural conception would not have been possible.”
Martin laughed.
It was a short, disbelieving sound.
“That's ridiculous. I have two children.”
“I understand.”
“My son is three. My daughter is six months old.”
“I understand that as well.”
“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”
The doctor turned his monitor slightly.
“I'm suggesting that you undergo additional testing before making assumptions about biological parentage.”
Martin stood.
His chair rolled backward.
“Are you telling me my children aren't mine?”
“I am telling you that your medical history makes biological paternity extraordinarily unlikely. The appropriate next step is genetic testing.”
Martin looked at me again.
For the first time in nine years, I saw something in his eyes that wasn't arrogance.
Fear.
Then he did what he always did when reality threatened his pride.
He attacked me.
“You knew this would happen. You planned this.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Planned what, Martin? Your medical history?”
“You should have told me!”
“I tried calling you that afternoon. Forty-three times.”
He went silent.
“I left messages. I emailed you. I even went to your office.”
Dr. Whitmore quietly excused himself.
The door closed.
Martin approached me.
“You let me believe I had children.”
“No, Martin. You let yourself believe whatever made you feel powerful.”
His face reddened.
“Clara is going to hear about this.”
“I'm sure she will.”
I stood, adjusted my coat, and walked toward the door.
“Evelyn.”
I stopped.
“Don't say a word to anyone.”
I turned around.
“That's interesting. You've spent three years introducing your children to the world as the proof that your wife was defective. Now you're asking me to protect your reputation?”
He stepped closer.
“Those children are innocent.”
For the first time that morning, I almost smiled.
“Yes. They are.”
And that was why I had no intention of letting him use them as weapons.
When I reached the hospital lobby, my phone vibrated.
A message from my attorney.
The independent audit is complete. We found something you need to see immediately.
I opened the attached report.
There were seventeen payments to a private fertility clinic, all authorized by Martin. The first had been made six months before Clara announced her pregnancy.
The last payment had been made three weeks earlier.
But it wasn't the amount that made my blood run cold.
It was the name listed as the genetic donor.
I read it twice.
Then I called my attorney.
“Tell me you verified this.”
“We did,” she answered.
“Does Martin know?”
“No. But Evelyn, there's something else.”
“What?”
“The donor isn't a stranger.”
I stared at the screen.
The report contained a name I recognized.
A name that belonged to someone who had attended our wedding.
Someone who had sat beside Martin at every family Christmas.
May you like
Someone who had spent nine years pretending to be my friend.
And when I saw it, I finally understood that Clara's betrayal was only the beginning.
