PART 5- THE OTHER CHILDREN
For several seconds, I forgot how to breathe.
“All three?”
The social worker didn’t answer immediately.
Her eyes moved across the computer screen as if she was hoping she had misunderstood what she was reading.
James stepped beside her.
“What does ‘live births’ mean?”
She looked up.
“It means exactly what it sounds like.”
My arms tightened around the newborn against my chest.
“No.”
My voice barely existed.
“No, there has to be some mistake.”
“I hope there is.”
“You just told me there are three children somewhere who came from our embryos.”
“I’m telling you that the records indicate three additional embryos were transferred and that each transfer eventually resulted in a documented birth.”
James grabbed the back of a chair.
“When?”
The social worker hesitated.
“The births occurred over several years.”
I stared at her.
“How many years?”
“The oldest appears to be ten.”
Ten.
My eldest son was nine.
Somewhere in the world there might be a child genetically belonging to James and me who was older than the son we had raised as our firstborn.
I felt dizzy.
“The others?”
“One is approximately eight.”
She paused.
“And one is six.”
I looked at James.
Nine.
Seven.
Four.
Those were the ages of the three boys waiting at home for us.
And somewhere else…
Ten.
Eight.
Six.
Three children.
I couldn’t stop doing the arithmetic.
Seven children connected to us genetically.
Three sons at home.
Three children we had never known existed.
And the newborn girl in my arms.
“This isn’t possible,” James whispered.
Michael stepped closer to the computer.
“Who received the embryos?”
“I don’t have access to identifying information.”
“You have birth records.”
“I have case numbers.”
“Then get the names.”
“I can’t simply access confidential records because we want answers.”
I almost laughed.
Confidentiality.
Eleven years of secrets had apparently been protected more carefully than my own embryos.
I looked at the social worker.
“Then tell me what you can tell me.”
She hesitated.
“The transfers were processed through three different fertility programs.”
“Three?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“Same state?”
“No.”
That frightened me more.
“Where?”
“One appears to have been transferred to a clinic in Washington.”
She scrolled.
“One to California.”
Another pause.
“And one to Colorado.”
James slowly sat down.
“This was organized.”
Nobody contradicted him.
Because it was obvious.
This wasn’t one clerical error.
Someone had moved our embryos across state lines.
Someone had placed them with different people.
Someone had hidden what happened.
And according to Carol…
That someone might have been Dr. Helen Mercer.
My doctor.
The woman who had delivered two of my boys.
The woman who had sat beside my hospital bed after Noah’s birth and told me another pregnancy could kill me.
The woman who had hugged me while I cried.
I suddenly remembered something.
“Oh my God.”
James looked at me.
“What?”
“The appointments.”
“What appointments?”
“After Noah.”
I could barely form the words.
“Dr. Mercer kept asking whether we had considered adoption.”
James frowned.
“I remember.”
“No. You weren’t there for all of them.”
Something cold crawled through me.
“She asked me three times.”
Michael was watching me carefully.
“What exactly did she ask?”
“She asked whether losing the possibility of having another biological child made me feel like our family was incomplete.”
James’s expression changed.
“She knew about Evelyn?”
“She knew everything.”
Of course she did.
I’d told her.
Doctors hear things people don’t tell anyone else.
During one appointment, while crying on an examination table, I’d told her about the daughter we’d wanted.
I had even told her the name.
Evelyn.
I looked down at the baby.
Carol hadn’t necessarily learned that name from my notebook alone.
Dr. Mercer knew it too.
My stomach turned.
“We need to call the police.”
Michael nodded.
“I already did.”
James looked at him.
“When?”
“Before I came here.”
“Why?”
“Because Carol told me to.”
Michael unlocked his phone again.
“There are more recordings.”
My eyes snapped toward him.
“How many?”
“Four.”
“You played one.”
“Yes.”
“What’s on the others?”
“I don’t know.”
James stared at him.
“You didn’t listen?”
“Carol specifically told me not to unless Anna was present.”
I shifted the baby carefully.
“Play the next one.”
“Anna,” James said softly, “maybe we should wait.”
“For what?”
“The police.”
“I have waited eleven years without knowing my own children existed.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
My own children.
The room went silent.
I looked down at the newborn.
I didn’t even know whether I had the right to use those words about the other three.
They might have parents who had loved them every day of their lives.
Mothers who knew their favorite foods.
Fathers who taught them to ride bicycles.
People who stayed awake beside them when they had fevers.
People those children called Mom and Dad.
Genetics didn’t erase any of that.
But it didn’t erase me either.
And I needed to know what happened.
“Play it.”
Michael pressed the second recording.
Carol’s voice returned.
“Anna, there are things I only discovered during the pregnancy.”
A pause.
“When I first contacted Dr. Mercer, I believed what she told me.”
“She said the embryo had been legally designated for donation after you and James stopped paying storage fees.”
James whispered:
“That never happened.”
The recording continued.
“She told me the clinic had tried to contact you.”
“She said you had signed forms allowing unused embryos to be anonymously donated.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
James looked at me.
“We never signed that.”
“I know.”
Carol continued.
“I believed her because I wanted to believe her.”
“Then, when I was twenty-seven weeks pregnant, I received a call.”
“A woman asked me where I’d gotten my embryo.”
Michael’s face changed.
Apparently this part was new to him too.
Carol’s voice became quieter.
“She said she had reason to believe her son and my baby came from the same biological parents.”
My heart slammed against my chest.
The social worker stood.
James whispered:
“One of the other mothers.”
Carol continued.
“She sent me a photograph.”
“I knew immediately.”
“The boy looked like James.”
I closed my eyes.
I pictured my sons.
All three had James’s eyes.
That same serious expression when concentrating.
The same crooked smile.
Carol’s voice cracked.
“I confronted Dr. Mercer.”
“She told me to stop asking questions.”
“She said opening old records would destroy innocent families.”
My anger came so suddenly I almost welcomed it.
Innocent families?
She had stolen choices from all of us and then called silence protection.
The recording continued.
“I started investigating myself.”
“I found two other families.”
My eyes opened.
Two.
“She found them,” I whispered.
Michael nodded slowly.
Carol continued.
“I never contacted the children.”
“I need you to understand that.”
“They don’t know.”
“Their parents may not know either.”
“But I found names.”
Michael immediately stopped the recording.
“Why did you stop it?”
He looked toward the social worker.
“If the recording contains minors’ identities, we shouldn’t play it in a hallway.”
For once, somebody was thinking clearly.
The social worker nodded.
“We need a private room.”
Within ten minutes, we were moved to a small family consultation room.
The baby came with us.
A nurse brought formula.
I sat on a couch holding her while James sat beside me.
Michael remained across the room.
Nobody spoke much.
There was too much to say.
Then the door opened.
Two detectives entered.
A man and a woman.
The woman introduced herself as Detective Ruiz.
The man was Detective Harper.
Michael handed them the phone.
Carol’s letter.
Copies of the fertility documents.
For almost an hour, we answered questions.
When had we undergone treatment?
Which clinic?
Who was our physician?
What consent forms had we signed?
Did we ever authorize donation?
No.
Had we ever authorized Carol to carry an embryo?
No.
Did James knowingly preserve one embryo?
Yes.
That answer hurt every time.
But it was no longer the largest betrayal in the room.
Finally Detective Ruiz asked:
“Do you know where Dr. Mercer is?”
I looked at her.
“At her clinic?”
“No.”
Something about her tone frightened me.
“What do you mean?”
“We sent officers there forty minutes ago.”
“And?”
“The clinic is closed.”
James frowned.
“At this hour?”
“Not closed for the day.”
Detective Ruiz looked at her notes.
“Closed permanently.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The office appears to have been cleared out.”
“When?”
“We’re determining that.”
Michael leaned forward.
“Carol must have warned her.”
“Or someone warned her after Carol died,” Detective Harper said.
That possibility landed heavily.
Someone else knew.
Maybe someone at the hospital.
Maybe someone at the clinic.
Maybe someone we hadn’t identified yet.
Detective Ruiz turned toward Michael.
“You said there are additional recordings?”
“Yes.”
“We need them as evidence.”
I immediately said:
“I want to hear them.”
She studied me.
“Mrs. Bennett, there may be information in them concerning minors.”
“They concern embryos created from my body.”
“And we’re going to investigate that.”
“I want to hear what Carol left for me.”
James touched my hand.
This time I let him.
Detective Ruiz thought for a moment.
Then nodded.
“Provided there is nothing that compromises an active investigation.”
Michael handed her the phone.
She listened through headphones first.
Her expression barely changed.
Until the third recording.
Then she paused it.
Detective Harper noticed.
“What?”
She whispered something to him.
He looked at me.
Then James.
“What is it?” I asked.
Detective Ruiz removed the headphones.
“Mrs. Bennett, before we play this, I need to ask you something.”
“Okay.”
“Do you have a sister?”
I blinked.
“No.”
“A brother?”
“No. I’m an only child.”
“Are your parents living?”
“My mother is.”
“What’s her name?”
“Margaret.”
The detectives looked at each other.
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
Detective Ruiz didn’t answer.
“Where does your mother live?”
“About forty minutes from us.”
“Does she know you’re here?”
“No.”
“Has she ever met Dr. Mercer?”
I almost said no.
Then stopped.
Because she had.
My mother had come with me to several appointments when James couldn’t leave work.
She had met Dr. Mercer repeatedly.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Years ago.”
“How well?”
“I don’t know.”
Detective Ruiz put the phone on the table.
“I think you need to hear this.”
She pressed play.
Carol’s voice filled the room again.
“Anna, this is the part I don’t know how to tell you.”
My heart began hammering.
“When I started investigating Dr. Mercer, I found an old email account.”
“She had exchanged messages with someone about your embryos.”
“The messages began before you and James decided to stop storage.”
James gripped my hand.
Carol continued.
“At first I thought the person was another doctor.”
“Then I recognized the name.”
I stopped breathing.
“No.”
I already knew.
Some part of me knew before Carol said it.
“The person Dr. Mercer was corresponding with was your mother.”
James stood.
“What?”
I couldn’t move.
My mother?
My mother who had sat beside me during fertility treatments?
My mother who had held each of my boys minutes after they were born?
My mother who knew how devastated I was when doctors told me there couldn’t safely be another pregnancy?
Carol continued.
“I don’t know how involved Margaret was.”
“I don’t know whether she understood what Mercer eventually did.”
“But I found one message that I think you need to see.”
The recording ended.
Detective Ruiz pulled a printed page from the evidence packet.
She slid it across the table.
I stared at it.
An email.
Eleven years old.
From my mother’s address.
To Dr. Mercer.
The subject line:
ABOUT ANNA’S REMAINING EMBRYOS.
I couldn’t make myself read it.
James did.
His face changed.
“What does it say?”
He looked at me.
“Anna…”
“Read it.”
He hesitated.
“Read it.”
His voice shook.
“Please don’t destroy them yet.”
I stared at him.
He continued.
“She has always wanted a daughter. She’s emotional now and doesn’t understand what she’s giving up.”
I felt sick.
There was more.
James stopped.
“What?”
He handed me the page.
I read the final lines myself.
If there is any legal way to preserve them without telling her, please do it.
One day she may thank us.
I dropped the paper.
My mother.
My own mother.
“She knew.”
James crouched in front of me.
“Anna, that email doesn’t prove she knew they were transferred.”
“She interfered.”
“Yes.”
“She went behind my back.”
“Yes.”
“And Dr. Mercer used that.”
Detective Ruiz nodded.
“That’s one possibility.”
I stood.
“I need to call her.”
“I’d prefer you didn’t.”
“She’s my mother.”
“And potentially a witness.”
“Or potentially something worse.”
Detective Ruiz didn’t answer.
That was answer enough.
Then my phone rang.
Every person in the room looked toward it.
I pulled it from my pocket.
MOM.
My blood went cold.
James saw the screen.
“Don’t answer.”
Detective Ruiz held up one finger.
“Put it on speaker.”
I answered.
“Mom?”
For several seconds, there was only breathing.
Then:
“Anna?”
She sounded like she’d been crying.
“Where are you?”
“I know about the embryos.”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Silence.
That told me everything.
“You knew.”
“Anna, please.”
“You knew.”
“I didn’t know what Helen was doing.”
Helen.
Not Dr. Mercer.
Helen.
My mother had called her Helen.
“How well did you know her?”
Another silence.
“Mom?”
“We were friends a long time ago.”
“How long?”
“Before you were born.”
I sat down.
“What?”
James stared at me.
My mother started crying.
“Anna, there are things about your birth I should have told you years ago.”
My entire body went cold.
“Don’t.”
“Please listen.”
“No. We’re talking about my children.”
“I know.”
“Then tell me why you contacted Dr. Mercer about my embryos.”
“Because I panicked.”
“Why?”
“Because I knew what losing them would mean.”
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
“Did you authorize her to give them away?”
“No!”
Her answer came immediately.
“No. Never.”
“Did you know Carol was carrying one?”
“No.”
“Did you know there were other children?”
My mother stopped breathing.
I heard it.
Then she whispered:
“Other children?”
Detective Ruiz watched me carefully.
“There are three.”
My mother made a sound I had never heard from her before.
“Oh God.”
For the first time, I believed she truly hadn’t known.
But then she said something strange.
“Then Helen did it again.”
Detective Ruiz leaned forward.
I gripped the phone.
“Again?”
My mother started sobbing.
“Mom, what does that mean?”
“I should have told you.”
“Told me what?”
“I thought she stopped.”
“WHO?”
“Helen.”
My hands were shaking.
“What did she do before?”
My mother’s answer came in a whisper.
“She did it to me.”
Nobody in the room moved.
“What are you talking about?”
“Anna…”
Her voice broke.
“You weren’t conceived the way I told you.”
My mind went blank.
I could hear my newborn daughter breathing against my chest.
My mother continued.
“I couldn’t get pregnant.”
“I went to Helen.”
“She was working at another clinic then.”
“And?”
“I thought the donor embryo had been legally donated.”
My mouth went dry.
“What donor embryo?”
My mother’s next words made James stand.
“The one that became you.”
I stopped breathing.
Me?
I looked around the room as though somebody might tell me I’d misunderstood.
But my mother kept talking.
“I learned years later that there were questions about where some of Helen’s embryos came from.”
“I confronted her.”
“She swore yours was legal.”
“I believed her because I needed to.”
My voice barely came out.
“So you’re not my biological mother?”
She started crying harder.
“No.”
The room tilted.
Everything I thought I knew about myself suddenly felt unstable.
Then Detective Ruiz quietly asked:
“Margaret, do you know the identity of Anna’s biological parents?”
There was a long silence.
Finally my mother answered.
“I know who her biological mother was.”
My heart hammered.
“Was?”
“She died years ago.”
I couldn’t speak.
“And my biological father?”
My mother didn’t answer.
“Mom.”
Nothing.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know.”
I closed my eyes.
Then she said:
“But Helen did.”
The detective immediately asked:
“Why?”
My mother’s answer came slowly.
“Because he worked at the clinic.”
I opened my eyes.
Detective Ruiz and Detective Harper exchanged a look.
My mother continued.
“And Anna…”
“Yes?”
“There is one more thing.”
Of course there was.
There was always one more thing.
“What?”
“When I confronted Helen about your embryo years later, she told me something.”
“What?”
“She said yours wasn’t the only embryo created from those biological parents.”
My heart stopped.
“What are you saying?”
“She said there were others.”
I looked down at my newborn daughter.
Then at the documents about the three children created from my own embryos.
Generations of secrets.
Children scattered into families who had no idea where they truly came from.
“How many others?”
“I don’t know.”
My mother started crying again.
“But Anna…”
“Yes?”
“I think Carol found one of them.”
My entire body went still.
“Found one of what?”
“Your biological siblings.”
James whispered:
“Oh my God.”
I gripped the phone.
“Who?”
Before my mother could answer, someone knocked hard on the consultation-room door.
Detective Harper stood.
“Stay here.”
He opened it.
A uniformed officer whispered something into his ear.
Harper’s expression changed.
“What happened?” Detective Ruiz asked.
He looked directly at me.
“They found Dr. Mercer.”
I stood.
“Where?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
“Detective?”
“At the airport.”
My heart jumped.
“She was trying to leave?”
“Yes.”
“Did they arrest her?”
“They detained her.”
“Then ask her about the children.”
“We will.”
“And ask her about my biological parents.”
“We will.”
“And ask her who my sibling is.”
Detective Harper looked at the officer again.
Then back at me.
“Mrs. Bennett…”
Something in his expression frightened me.
“What?”
“When they detained Dr. Mercer, she had several documents with her.”
“What documents?”
“Birth records.”
My heart pounded.
“How many?”
“Dozens.”
Nobody spoke.
Then he added:
“And one of them has your husband’s name on it.”
I turned slowly toward James.
His face went white.
“What?”
Harper looked at the document the officer had handed him.
“Not as a father.”
James stared at him.
“Then what?”
The detective took a breath.
“As a child.”
James stopped moving.
I stared at my husband.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“No, that’s impossible.”
But Detective Harper wasn’t finished.
“The birth record was issued forty-two years ago.”
James sat down.
“That can’t be mine.”
Harper looked at him.
“It contains your full name.”
James said nothing.
“Your date of birth.”
Nothing.
“And the names of the people you believe are your parents.”
James’s face collapsed.
I suddenly understood why the detective looked so disturbed.
“What does this have to do with Dr. Mercer?”
Harper lowered the document.
“Because attached to the record was a fertility-clinic file.”
The room became completely silent.
James whispered:
“My mother never had fertility treatment.”
Detective Harper looked at him.
“According to this file, she did.”
My heart began hammering.
James and I looked at each other.
Then I remembered what my mother had just said.
Carol found one of your biological siblings.
I couldn’t breathe.
No.
It couldn’t be.
I looked at James.
At my husband of eleven years.
At the father of my boys.
At the biological father of the newborn girl in my arms.
And for the first time since entering that hospital, I felt genuine terror.
Detective Ruiz must have understood where my mind had gone.
“Don’t assume anything yet.”
But James had understood too.
He looked sick.
“Are you saying Anna and I could be related?”
“We’re saying we need genetic testing immediately.”
The baby began crying.
I held her against my chest.
My phone was still connected.
My mother was saying my name.
“Anna?”
“Anna, listen to me.”
But I couldn’t.
Because Detective Harper had just turned over the final page from Dr. Mercer’s airport documents.
There was a handwritten note clipped to James’s birth record.
Only one sentence.
He read it silently.
Then looked at us.
“What does it say?” I whispered.
He hesitated.
“Detective, what does it say?”
His answer was barely audible.
“It says…”
He looked from James to me.
“DO NOT LET THESE TWO FILES BE COMPARED.”
And underneath that sentence were two names.
JAMES BENNETT.
And mine.
ANNA BENNETT.
END OF PART 5
PART 6: THE DNA TEST
Nobody spoke for several seconds.
The newborn was still against my chest.
Her tiny fingers were curled into the fabric of my shirt.
James stood across from me, staring at the paper in Detective Harper’s hand.
DO NOT LET THESE TWO FILES BE COMPARED.
JAMES BENNETT.
ANNA BENNETT.
I had spent eleven years sleeping beside this man.
We had built a home together.
Raised three boys together.
And now I was standing in a hospital room wondering whether the biggest secret of our lives had begun before either of us could speak.
James finally broke the silence.
“Test us.”
Detective Ruiz looked at him.
“We will.”
“No.”
James shook his head.
“Not tomorrow.”
He pointed toward me.
“Not after another investigation.”
“Now.”
I had never heard that tone in his voice before.
“James…”
He looked at me.
His eyes were terrified.
“I need to know.”
So did I.
Detective Ruiz spoke quietly.
“There may be a way to get preliminary relationship testing expedited because of the circumstances.”
“How long?”
“Potentially several hours for an initial result, but a full laboratory confirmation will take longer.”
“Do it.”
She looked at me.
“Mrs. Bennett?”
I looked down at Evelyn.
My daughter.
At least that much had already been established.
Then I looked at James.
“Yes.”
“Do it.”
The samples were collected less than twenty minutes later.
A swab inside my cheek.
One inside James’s.
Then the detectives requested additional testing using the records and samples connected to Evelyn.
Afterward, there was nothing to do but wait.
And waiting was unbearable.
James paced.
Michael sat silently near the window.
Detective Harper left to coordinate with officers questioning Dr. Mercer.
My mother was still on the phone.
I’d almost forgotten.
“Anna?”
Her voice sounded tiny through the speaker.
I picked up the phone.
“I’m here.”
“Please believe me. I didn’t know about James.”
“What exactly did you know?”
Silence.
“Mom, no more half-truths.”
“I knew Helen had done things she shouldn’t have.”
“What things?”
“I didn’t know specifics.”
“You knew enough to confront her about my birth.”
“Yes.”
“You knew enough to ask her to preserve my embryos behind my back.”
“Yes.”
“Then you knew enough to warn me.”
She started crying again.
“I was afraid.”
“Of what?”
“Of losing you.”
That answer made me angrier than I expected.
“You thought telling me the truth would make you lose me?”
“I wasn’t your biological mother.”
“You were my mother.”
She stopped crying.
I continued.
“You raised me.”
“You stayed awake when I was sick.”
“You packed my lunches.”
“You taught me to drive.”
“You embarrassed me at graduation because you cried louder than everyone else’s parents.”
A strange laugh escaped her through the tears.
“You remember that?”
“Of course I remember.”
My voice broke.
“You didn’t need to share my DNA to be my mother.”
The room became silent.
“But you did need to tell me the truth.”
“I know.”
“And now that truth may have followed me into my children’s lives.”
“I know.”
I looked at James.
He had stopped pacing.
“Tell me about Helen.”
My mother’s breathing changed.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
She was silent for a long time.
Then she began.
“Helen and I met when we were twenty-two.”
“She was in medical school.”
“I was working at a bookstore near campus.”
“We became close.”
“How close?”
“Best friends.”
That surprised me.
My mother had never mentioned her.
Not once.
“When I married your father, Helen was at the wedding.”
“My father?”
I almost laughed.
“Which father are we talking about now?”
“The man who raised you.”
My father had died when I was twenty-three.
He had been gentle.
Quiet.
The kind of man who fixed everything with duct tape and refused to throw away old coffee cans.
He had loved me.
That was still real.
I needed that to remain real.
“Did Dad know?”
“Yes.”
“About the donor embryo?”
“Yes.”
“About where it came from?”
“No.”
“Did he ever know you weren’t genetically my mother?”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Another secret he’d taken to his grave.
“Continue.”
My mother inhaled.
“After years of trying to have a baby, Helen told us about an experimental embryo-donation program.”
“She said another couple had completed their family and donated embryos anonymously.”
“We believed her.”
“You never met the biological parents?”
“No.”
“Never saw their names?”
“No.”
“Then how did you later learn there was a problem?”
“Because when you were thirteen, I received a letter.”
I sat straighter.
“What letter?”
“Anonymous.”
“What did it say?”
My mother’s voice dropped.
“It said, ‘The child you were given was never theirs to give.’”
My skin prickled.
James moved closer.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
Detective Ruiz immediately leaned toward the phone.
“Margaret, don’t touch or alter that letter. An officer will need to collect it.”
My mother agreed.
Then I asked:
“Did you show it to Helen?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“She said somebody was trying to destroy her career.”
“Did you believe her?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
My mother became quiet.
“Later, I found another family.”
My heart sank.
“What family?”
“A couple who had undergone treatment at the same clinic.”
“They believed their remaining embryos had been destroyed.”
I knew exactly where this was going.
“One wasn’t.”
“No.”
“What happened to it?”
“A baby was born.”
The pattern.
It had started decades earlier.
Maybe before I was born.
“What did you do?”
“I confronted Helen.”
“She told me there had been administrative errors at the clinic.”
“Errors?”
“Yes.”
“But then she said something I’ll never forget.”
“What?”
My mother’s voice became almost a whisper.
“She said, ‘Sometimes biology puts a child in the wrong place, and medicine gives us a chance to correct it.’”
Nobody in the room moved.
I felt sick.
This wasn’t about money.
Not entirely.
This wasn’t carelessness.
Dr. Mercer believed she had the right to decide who should raise which child.
“She thought she was helping people,” I whispered.
My mother answered quietly.
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
“It makes it worse.”
Because mistakes can stop.
People who believe they are righteous don’t always stop.
They justify.
They repeat.
They expand.
My mother continued.
“When you later underwent fertility treatment, I begged you to use another doctor.”
I remembered.
She had.
I’d thought she was being controlling.
“But you never told me why.”
“I was ashamed.”
“Then why contact Helen about my remaining embryos?”
My mother started crying again.
“Because I made the worst decision of my life.”
“What decision?”
“I convinced myself that if I stayed close to Helen, I could control her.”
“You thought you could control someone who had already lied to you for decades?”
“I thought I could make sure your embryos weren’t destroyed until you were absolutely certain.”
“And instead you put them back in her hands.”
“Yes.”
The word came out broken.
I looked at Evelyn.
One terrible choice had led to another.
Then another.
Until there were children in Washington, California and Colorado who might have no idea that any of us existed.
Detective Ruiz’s phone rang.
She stepped into the hallway.
James sat beside me.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said:
“If we’re related…”
“Don’t.”
“I need to say it.”
“No.”
“Anna.”
I looked at him.
His face was gray.
“What happens to us?”
I didn’t know.
I couldn’t even think about it.
“We wait for the test.”
“What about the boys?”
My chest tightened.
That was the question I had been avoiding.
Whatever the test revealed, our boys were still our boys.
Nothing changed that.
But medically?
Genetically?
There could be implications we needed to understand.
“We deal with facts when we have facts.”
James nodded.
Then looked at Evelyn.
“Can I hold her?”
I hesitated.
Not because I thought he would hurt her.
Because for the first time in our marriage, I didn’t know what James was to me.
But whatever he was to me, he was her father.
I handed her to him.
He cradled her awkwardly.
She opened her eyes.
James smiled through tears.
“Hey, Evelyn.”
That was the first time either of us had called her that out loud.
Evelyn.
It fit.
My eyes filled.
Then Detective Ruiz returned.
“We have an update.”
James stood carefully, still holding the baby.
“About the test?”
“No.”
“Dr. Mercer.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“Almost nothing.”
“Almost?”
“She asked for an attorney.”
“Of course.”
“But before she did, Detective Harper showed her the documents found in her luggage.”
“And?”
“When she saw the page containing your names, she made a statement.”
“What statement?”
Detective Ruiz looked directly at me.
“She said, ‘They were never supposed to meet.’”
My blood went cold.
James whispered:
“What?”
“She wouldn’t elaborate.”
I stared at him.
They were never supposed to meet.
That sounded like confirmation.
James and I had met when I was twenty-seven.
At a friend’s birthday party.
A completely ordinary night.
He spilled a drink near me.
I laughed.
He offered to buy me another.
There had been no conspiracy.
No clinic.
No Dr. Mercer.
Just chance.
Unless chance had reunited two people who were never supposed to know each other existed.
James sat down.
“Oh God.”
I reached for his arm instinctively.
Then stopped myself.
He noticed.
That hurt more than I expected.
Before either of us could speak, Detective Ruiz continued.
“There’s more.”
I almost laughed.
“There is always more.”
“Dr. Mercer asked whether Carol was dead.”
Michael stood.
“What?”
“We didn’t answer.”
His face hardened.
“Why would she ask that?”
“I don’t know.”
“But after asking, she said, ‘Then Margaret will finally have to tell Anna who she is.’”
My stomach twisted.
I grabbed my phone.
“Mom?”
No answer.
“Mom?”
The line was still connected.
But there was silence.
“Mom!”
Then I heard something.
A knock.
Not in our room.
Through the phone.
At my mother’s house.
Three knocks.
My mother whispered:
“Someone’s at the door.”
Detective Ruiz immediately said:
“Margaret, do not answer it.”
Another knock.
Harder.
My mother breathed:
“They’re calling my name.”
“Do not open the door.”
“Anna…”
“What?”
“I recognize the voice.”
My entire body tightened.
“Who is it?”
Before she could answer, another voice came through the phone.
A woman’s voice.
Muffled by the door.
“Margaret.”
My mother gasped.
Then whispered:
“No.”
I stood.
“Mom, who is it?”
“It can’t be.”
“WHO?”
My mother’s answer made Detective Ruiz reach for her radio.
“It’s Helen.”
Dr. Mercer.
But that was impossible.
Dr. Mercer was in police custody.
Detective Ruiz immediately spoke into her radio.
“Confirm Mercer is secure.”
Seconds later, a voice responded.
“Confirmed. Mercer remains in custody.”
I stared at the phone.
“Mom, whoever is outside is not Helen.”
My mother started crying.
“But it sounds exactly like her.”
The woman outside knocked again.
Then said:
“Margaret, open the door.”
Detective Ruiz was already dispatching officers.
“Police are coming. Stay away from the door.”
My mother whispered:
“Okay.”
Then everything went silent.
Ten seconds.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Finally we heard sirens through the phone.
The knocking stopped.
Detective Ruiz exhaled.
Then my mother screamed.
“Mom!”
The phone hit something.
“Mom!”
A man’s voice shouted in the distance.
Police.
More voices.
Then silence.
The call disconnected.
I nearly dropped my phone.
“What happened?”
Detective Ruiz was listening to her radio.
Her expression changed.
“Your mother is safe.”
I collapsed into the chair.
“What happened?”
“Officers found a woman outside the house.”
“Who?”
“They’re identifying her now.”
Five minutes later, Detective Ruiz received a photograph.
She stared at it.
Then handed the phone to me.
“Do you recognize her?”
I looked.
The woman appeared to be in her sixties.
Silver hair.
Thin face.
I had never seen her before.
“No.”
James looked.
Neither had he.
Michael leaned forward.
His expression changed instantly.
“You know her?” I asked.
He nodded.
“That’s the woman from Carol’s photograph.”
“What photograph?”
“The one Carol received from the mother who contacted her.”
I stared at him.
“What are you saying?”
Michael swallowed.
“That’s one of the women who raised a child from your embryo.”
My heart slammed.
“Which child?”
“The oldest.”
The ten-year-old.
Detective Ruiz immediately asked:
“Why would she come to Margaret’s house?”
Michael shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
My phone rang again.
This time it was an unknown number.
Detective Ruiz answered it for me.
She listened.
Then handed it back.
“It’s the lab.”
My entire body froze.
James stood.
Evelyn was sleeping against his chest.
The DNA results.
Already.
I put the phone on speaker.
A laboratory specialist introduced herself.
She explained that this was preliminary.
That full confirmation would follow.
That the results should not be interpreted without proper genetic counseling.
I barely heard any of it.
“Please.”
My voice shook.
“Just tell us.”
She paused.
“The analysis does not support a sibling relationship between Anna Bennett and James Bennett.”
I stopped breathing.
James closed his eyes.
Relief hit me so hard my knees nearly failed.
“We’re not brother and sister?”
“No.”
James began crying.
I did too.
But the specialist wasn’t finished.
“However…”
That word destroyed the relief instantly.
I looked at Detective Ruiz.
“What?”
“There is a biological relationship.”
James opened his eyes.
“What relationship?”
The specialist hesitated.
“The preliminary results indicate that Mr. Bennett and Mrs. Bennett share approximately the amount of DNA expected between…”
She paused.
“…first cousins.”
Nobody moved.
First cousins.
My stomach turned.
James whispered:
“How?”
Then Michael suddenly stood.
His chair scraped backward.
Everyone looked at him.
His face had gone white.
“What?” I asked.
He stared at me.
Then James.
“I know how.”
Detective Ruiz stepped closer.
“How?”
Michael’s hands began shaking.
“Carol found Anna’s biological sibling.”
I stared at him.
“Yes.”
He looked at James.
“She found his mother.”
James froze.
“What?”
Michael swallowed.
“Your mother, James.”
“No.”
“She wasn’t just another patient at Dr. Mercer’s clinic.”
“No.”
Michael’s voice cracked.
“She was Anna’s biological aunt.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
James sat down slowly.
I couldn’t process it.
If James’s mother was my biological mother’s sister…
Then James and I were first cousins.
Our DNA result made sense.
The note made sense.
They were never supposed to meet.
But another question immediately rose.
“How did Carol know?”
Michael looked at the phone in his hand.
“The fourth recording.”
We had forgotten it.
Carol’s final recording.
Detective Ruiz took the phone.
She pressed play.
Carol’s voice filled the room one last time.
“If you’ve reached this recording, Anna, then you probably know more than I ever wanted you to know.”
“I found James’s mother six months ago.”
“She told me everything.”
“She and your biological mother were sisters.”
“Both struggled to have children.”
“Both went to the same clinic.”
“Both trusted Helen Mercer.”
My hand covered my mouth.
Carol continued.
“But Helen didn’t simply move embryos between strangers.”
“She was trying to keep certain bloodlines alive.”
Detective Ruiz frowned.
Carol’s breathing became rough.
“And there is one person at the center of all of it.”
“The biological father connected to both family lines.”
James whispered:
“What does that mean?”
Then Carol said:
“Anna, the man whose genetic material was used to create the embryo that became you…”
A pause.
“…was also the founder of the fertility clinic.”
I felt the room spin.
Carol continued.
“And Helen Mercer wasn’t working alone.”
“She was protecting him.”
“His name is Dr. Samuel Vale.”
Detective Ruiz immediately wrote it down.
But Michael didn’t move.
He was staring at the floor.
I noticed.
“Michael?”
He didn’t answer.
“Do you know that name?”
He slowly looked up.
“Yes.”
“How?”
His face changed.
“Because Samuel Vale isn’t dead.”
Detective Ruiz froze.
Michael continued.
“And I know exactly where he lives.”
“Where?”
He looked directly at me.
“Three streets away from you.”
My blood went cold.
James stood.
“What?”
Michael nodded.
“And Anna…”
He looked terrified.
“I think you’ve met him.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“When?”
Michael took a breath.
“The elderly man who came to your house after Noah was born.”
My heart stopped.
A memory surfaced.
A man in his seventies.
Flowers in his hands.
He’d introduced himself as an old colleague of Dr. Mercer.
He said he’d heard about my difficult delivery.
He stayed ten minutes.
Before leaving, he stood beside Noah’s crib and stared at him for a strangely long time.
Then he touched my son’s tiny hand.
I’d forgotten him completely.
Until now.
Michael whispered:
“That was Samuel Vale.”
My phone rang again.
This time it was our home number.
James and I stared at each other.
Our three boys were there with the babysitter.
I answered immediately.
“Hello?”
My nine-year-old son was crying.
“Mom?”
My heart stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“There’s a man outside.”
James grabbed my arm.
“What man?”
“He says he knows you.”
My whole body turned cold.
“Do not open the door.”
“But Mom…”
“What?”
“He already came inside.”
I couldn’t breathe.
Then another voice came through the phone.
Old.
Calm.
Familiar.
“Hello, Anna.”
The hospital room disappeared around me.
I knew that voice.
Samuel Vale.
Then he said:
“I think it’s finally time you and I talked about where you really came from.”
END OF PART 6
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