The photograph stayed on the conference table after Victoria left.
I could not stop looking at Carter’s hand.
It rested casually at Jessica’s waist.
Not the awkward touch of a colleague.
Not a greeting.
Familiarity.
Possession.
Their faces were turned toward each other in the particular way people look when the rest of the room has disappeared.
Twenty-two months earlier.
At the time, Carter and I had still been attending marriage counseling.
He had been telling me he wanted to rebuild trust.
He had been taking the girls for Saturday breakfasts.
He had bought me an anniversary bracelet three weeks after that photograph was taken.
The memory made me physically ill.
Aaron gathered his notes.
“I’m going to step out and give you two a few minutes.”
He left the room.
Rebecca remained on the monitor.
“You need to separate the emotional betrayal from the reproductive issue.”
“I know.”
“I’m not saying it doesn’t matter.”
“It establishes the timeline.”
“Yes.”
“It means Jessica knew him before the consulting arrangement.”
“Yes.”
“And if she knew about the storage payments later, she may have already had a personal motive.”
“Possibly.”
“Stop saying possibly.”
“I’m your attorney. Possibly matters.”
I leaned back and closed my eyes.
“That’s fair.”
Rebecca softened.
“Lauren, the facts are moving quickly. That is exactly when assumptions become dangerous.”
I opened my eyes.
“Then give me facts.”
“Fact: Carter lied about when his relationship with Jessica began.”
“Yes.”
“Fact: Jessica later obtained consulting access to Sterling records.”
“Yes.”
“Fact: storage payments for your male embryo appeared in those records.”
“Yes.”
“Fact: Jessica had previously worked at Oakfield.”
“Yes.”
“Fact: her deceased mother’s credentials were used to override an identity mismatch on the embryo release.”
“Yes.”
“Fact: a forged version of your signature authorized that release.”
“Yes.”
“Fact: Carter’s signature appears genuine.”
I looked at the photograph.
“Yes.”
“That is already enough to justify aggressive discovery without inventing anything we cannot prove.”
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a text appeared.
Lauren, this is Jessica. Carter doesn’t know I’m contacting you.
I stared at the screen.
Rebecca saw my expression.
“What?”
I read the message aloud.
“Do not reply yet.”
Another message arrived.
I know you hate me. You have every reason to. But he is lying to you about what happened.
Rebecca said, “Screenshot everything.”
I did.
A third message.
He knew the embryo was yours before the transfer.
My chest tightened.
I whispered, “She’s turning on him.”
“Or manipulating you.”
I continued reading.
He told me you had abandoned the embryo years ago and signed away your rights. He showed me documents.
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Interesting.”
“What?”
“If she is telling the truth, she’s building a defense around reliance on false documents.”
“So now Carter forged everything?”
“Potentially her claim.”
Another message appeared.
I did not forge your signature.
I laughed bitterly.
“How convenient.”
Rebecca said, “Still don’t answer.”
Then came a photograph.
A document.
I opened it.
It looked like a consent form.
My name appeared at the bottom.
Lauren Bennett Sterling.
The signature was not mine.
But unlike the release form Oakfield had described, this document was older.
Much older.
The date was six years earlier.
Just after the fake destruction letter.
Rebecca said, “Send that to me.”
I forwarded it.
She zoomed in.
“Do you recognize the witness?”
I looked.
The signature beside mine read:
Elaine Mercer.
Jessica’s mother.
My heart began pounding.
“What is this?”
Rebecca read the title.
“Directive Regarding Future Disposition and Intended Use.”
“I never saw that.”
“I believe you.”
“What does it say?”
She read silently for several seconds.
Then her expression changed.
“This document appears to authorize Carter to make unilateral decisions about the male embryo.”
I felt heat rise into my face.
“I never signed anything like that.”
“I know.”
“It’s six years old.”
“Yes.”
“So someone created a fake authorization six years ago.”
“Possibly.”
“You said possibly again.”
“Because I need the original.”
Another message from Jessica arrived.
Carter gave me that when we first discussed using the embryo. I believed it was valid.
I stared at the words.
Rebecca said, “Ask nothing yet.”
“I want to know when.”
“We already know the relationship predates his story.”
“I want her version.”
“Then let me structure the questions.”
I waited while Rebecca typed an email to me with wording she wanted preserved.
I copied the first question.
When did Carter first show you this document?
Jessica answered almost immediately.
About a year ago.
Not six years ago.
One year.
I sent the next question.
When did you first learn the male embryo existed?
Her answer took longer.
Before I started consulting for Sterling.
Rebecca and I both froze.
“That’s significant,” she said.
I typed:
How?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Then:
My mother told me.
The conference room felt suddenly smaller.
“What?”
Rebecca leaned closer to the screen.
“Ask when.”
I did.
Jessica responded:
Years ago. She said she had helped a wealthy patient preserve an embryo his wife wanted discarded.
My hands went cold.
Elaine Mercer had known.
Not merely through paperwork.
She had apparently been personally involved.
I typed:
Did she identify Carter?
Yes.
Did she identify me?
Not by name. Later I figured it out.
“How?” I whispered.
Rebecca said, “Ask.”
Jessica replied:
When I started consulting for Sterling, I saw the storage payments and the account number. I remembered what my mother had told me.
The pieces were locking together.
Jessica had not stumbled onto the embryo after starting an affair.
She had heard about it years earlier.
Then she entered Sterling’s orbit and recognized the storage account.
I typed the question before Rebecca could stop me.
Did you pursue Carter because of the embryo?
Jessica did not answer for three full minutes.
Then:
At first, I wanted to understand why they were still paying for it.
That was not a denial.
I sent:
That wasn’t my question.
Rebecca frowned.
“Lauren.”
“I know.”
Jessica answered.
No. I didn’t start seeing him because of the embryo.
Then a second message arrived.
But once we were together, I told him I knew about it.
A third.
He said it was supposed to be his son.
I stared at that sentence.
Supposed to be.
Not could become.
Not might have been.
Supposed to be.
As if biology had made a promise.
Rebecca said, “Save all of it.”
I already had.
I asked:
What did he tell you about me?
Jessica’s response came quickly.
That you had refused to have another child and signed control over the remaining embryo to him.
I remembered my emergency delivery.
My doctor warning another pregnancy could endanger me.
My agreement with Carter that our family was complete.
He had apparently translated those facts into something far uglier.
Refused to have another child.
As though I had denied him something.
Another message.
He said you knew he might use the embryo someday.
I laughed.
Rebecca looked at me.
“What?”
“He told her I knew.”
“That conflicts with his own old email saying you believed the embryos were gone.”
Exactly.
Carter had created different stories for different people.
To me, the embryo was destroyed.
To Jessica, I had relinquished control.
To Richard, secrecy was necessary so I would not interfere.
Each lie had been tailored to the audience.
My phone rang.
Carter.
I declined it.
Immediately, a text arrived.
Do not speak to Jessica.
Rebecca raised an eyebrow.
“He knows.”
“How?”
I looked at Jessica’s thread.
Maybe she had told him.
Maybe he was monitoring her.
Maybe his attorney had warned him.
I did not know.
Carter sent another message.
She is unstable and trying to protect herself.
Jessica sent one at nearly the same moment.
He will tell you I planned everything.
I stared at both screens.
Two people who had built a secret life together were now racing to assign responsibility.
Rebecca said, “This is useful.”
“It feels disgusting.”
“It can be both.”
Jessica sent another message.
There is something you don’t know about the transfer.
I waited.
Nothing.
Then:
The first transfer failed.
I sat perfectly still.
Rebecca whispered, “What?”
A new message appeared.
The pregnancy I have now came from a second embryo.
I read it again.
Second embryo.
My pulse roared in my ears.
There had been two embryos remaining after Chloe and Emma.
One male.
One female.
Everything we had seen so far referenced the male embryo.
I typed:
What second embryo?
Jessica did not answer.
I looked at Rebecca.
“She’s saying they used another one.”
Rebecca’s face had gone completely still.
“Ask her exactly which embryo.”
I did.
Thirty seconds.
A minute.
Two.
Then the message arrived.
The female embryo from your storage account was thawed first.
I stopped breathing.
The supposedly destroyed female embryo.
The one no storage invoice had mentioned.
Jessica continued.
It didn’t implant.
I stared at the screen.
My daughter’s genetic sibling had not simply disappeared from storage records.
Carter and Jessica had used her too.
And she had died in a failed transfer I never knew had happened.
Click here to continue reading: PART 8: The Missing Female Embryo Changed Everything, and Carter’s Own Email Proved He Had Approved Both Transfers Before Our Divorce Began
Five Minutes After Our Marriage Ended, Carter Said Something That Made Leaving With Our Daughters the Only Choice
Part 7 of 35
