I did not tell the girls.
Not that night.
Not the next morning.
I watched Chloe pour cereal while reading the back of the box.
I watched Emma insist the milk tasted better from Natalie’s blue cup.
Their faces had not changed.
Their histories had.
Or perhaps only my understanding of them had.
That distinction mattered.
Natalie waited until they left the kitchen.
“What did the test say?”
I told her.
She sat.
“Richard.”
“Strongly consistent.”
“And Carter?”
“Excluded from that retained sample.”
“Does that mean the girls—”
“We don’t know.”
I stopped her.
I could not hear the sentence completed yet.
“The lab used the same paternal sample for all four embryos?”
“The paperwork says yes.”
“But the paperwork is compromised.”
“Yes.”
“So you have to test.”
I stared at my coffee.
Eventually.
That was the practical answer.
But testing meant involving Chloe and Emma directly.
Not just as daughters affected by a divorce.
As children whose biological parentage might have been falsified before conception.
Rebecca joined us by phone later that morning.
“We have options.”
“Tell me.”
“First, do nothing immediately with the girls.”
That surprised me.
“You’re saying wait?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“They are minors. Their welfare matters independently from evidentiary convenience.”
I exhaled.
Thank God.
“Second?”
“Seek testing through existing retained neonatal or medical specimens if legally and ethically available.”
“Without touching them.”
“Potentially.”
“Do such samples exist?”
“Possibly dried blood spots or pathology material, depending on state rules and retention.”
Again.
Possibly.
I could live with possibly now.
“Third?”
“Ask Carter to test.”
“That answers whether he’s the father.”
“Yes.”
“He’ll refuse.”
“Probably.”
“Richard?”
“If located.”
Still missing.
Though now I suspected he was not simply hiding from evidence preservation.
He may have known exactly what the genetic records would reveal.
“What about the unborn baby?”
“Testing during pregnancy raises medical and legal considerations. Jessica’s doctors will decide whether any method is appropriate.”
“I don’t want anyone risking the pregnancy for evidence.”
“Neither do I.”
That answer came quickly.
The baby was innocent.
Whatever his biological relation to Carter, Richard, or the girls, he had already been turned into a legal object too often.
I would not add to that.
My phone buzzed.
Carter.
Not a call.
A long message.
I know what Oakfield is claiming. Dad has always manipulated records. That doesn’t mean anything. Chloe and Emma are my daughters. The baby is my son. Do not let anyone turn this into something else.
I showed Rebecca.
She said, “Interesting.”
“What?”
“He does not deny prior suspicion.”
“No.”
“He also states parentage as fact despite the new evidence.”
“Yes.”
“Ignore it.”
I did.
Then another message.
Please do not test the girls.
My pulse changed.
There.
Not outrage at the possibility.
Fear of verification.
I typed nothing.
A third message.
They don’t need this.
That sentence hurt because part of it was true.
The girls did not need this.
But Carter had created the situation where truth itself became painful.
He could not now use their innocence to shield his secrecy.
Rebecca said, “Save it.”
I did.
An hour later, Carter’s attorney filed an emergency motion attempting to prevent any genetic testing of the daughters without his consent.
Aaron called me.
“He moved fast.”
“Can he stop it?”
“He can ask.”
“Does he have legal standing if he might not be their biological father?”
“He remains their legal father unless and until a court says otherwise.”
That mattered.
Biology was not the only form of parenthood.
For eight years with Chloe and six with Emma, Carter had been legally and socially their father.
Poorly, sometimes.
But still.
“What is he arguing?”
“That testing would cause psychological harm.”
I felt anger rise.
“He was willing to replace them with a son yesterday.”
“His petition does not mention that.”
“Convenient.”
“Lauren.”
“I know.”
Evidence, not rage.
“What do we do?”
“We oppose unnecessary testing for now.”
I stared at him on the screen.
“You agree with him?”
“On the narrow point that the girls should not be rushed into a genetic test solely because adults are fighting, yes.”
That stopped me.
He was right.
The fact that Carter wanted something did not automatically make the opposite wise.
“Then what are we seeking?”
“Preservation of alternative biological evidence and an order preventing Carter or Richard from interfering with existing samples or records.”
“Good.”
Rebecca added, “And Carter’s own genetic sample if necessary.”
That afternoon, Jessica’s lawyer called.
Her blood pressure remained high.
Doctors had placed her on reduced activity and increased monitoring.
The pregnancy was stable.
For now.
Jessica wanted to speak with me.
I agreed reluctantly.
Her voice sounded tired.
“I heard about Richard.”
“From whom?”
“Carter.”
“What did he say?”
“That his father sabotaged the IVF.”
“Did he say he knew?”
“He said he suspected years ago.”
I closed my eyes.
Even Jessica knew now.
“Anything else?”
“He said it changes nothing.”
“Convenient for him.”
“He says the baby is his because he intended to be the father.”
That was the new strategy.
If biology failed, intention.
If consent failed, forged paperwork.
If Jessica resisted, surrogate.
If Richard’s trust failed, family promise.
Carter kept changing legal categories while holding onto the same conclusion:
The boy belongs to me.
Jessica said, “He wants me to sign a parentage acknowledgment before delivery.”
“Don’t ask me for advice.”
“I’m not.”
“Then why tell me?”
“Because there’s something about the first transfer.”
My body tightened.
“What?”
“The female embryo.”
“Yes.”
“Carter didn’t choose her first only because she was female.”
I waited.
“He thought she might not be his.”
That sentence made no sense.
“What?”
“He told me there had always been a question about the embryos.”
“Before the first transfer?”
“Yes.”
“And you proceeded?”
Jessica exhaled shakily.
“Yes.”
I stood.
“You knew there was a possible paternity issue too?”
“Not the details.”
“What details did you know?”
“He said his father had interfered with something during IVF.”
My anger became cold.
“And you still let them transfer the embryo.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I believed him when he said it had been resolved.”
“By whom?”
“He said Oakfield confirmed his sample was used.”
The old email.
Vale had told Carter the same thing.
At least that part existed.
“But he still doubted?”
“Enough to test the female embryo first.”
I understood.
The first transfer had served two purposes.
Test implantation.
And perhaps test what kind of child resulted.
But sex had already been known.
Genetics too.
Unless Carter intended post-pregnancy paternity testing.
“Did he plan to test the pregnancy?”
Jessica said, “Yes.”
My stomach turned.
“He told me that if the first transfer worked, we’d do prenatal paternity testing once it was safe.”
“And if the embryo turned out to be Richard’s?”
“He never told me.”
“Think.”
Silence.
Then Jessica said quietly, “He said, ‘Then Dad finally gets what he wanted, just not the way he expected.’”
I stared at the wall.
That was monstrous in a new direction.
If Richard’s sperm had created the embryos, then a female pregnancy from the first transfer would have been Richard’s biological daughter with me.
Carter had been willing to carry that possibility forward without telling either of us.
“What did he say about the male embryo?”
“He wanted to preserve him until the question was answered.”
Of course.
That explained the sequence.
The female embryo was not only expendable because she was female.
She was the test case for genetic parentage.
Carter would risk her first to learn whether the male embryo belonged biologically to him.
The cruelty was breathtaking.
“Did the first pregnancy last long enough for testing?”
“No.”
“So he still didn’t know when he transferred the male.”
“No.”
“Then why proceed?”
“Richard pressured him.”
Of course.
Always Richard.
But Carter still signed.
Still chose.
Still knew.
Jessica whispered, “I’m sorry.”
I said nothing.
Apologies had become background noise.
I ended the call.
Rebecca listened to the recording with my permission.
Then said, “This may explain the access to the paternity-source records six weeks ago.”
I understood.
Carter had become worried again.
Perhaps something during Jessica’s pregnancy rekindled the doubt.
“What changed six weeks ago?”
Rebecca searched the timeline.
Then stopped.
“The anatomy scan.”
“So?”
“Jessica had routine blood work.”
“Still not seeing it.”
Rebecca looked up.
“Carter requested the raw screening file.”
“Can prenatal screening show paternity?”
“Not ordinary clinical screening, but a genetic profile could raise questions.”
“He saw something.”
“Possibly.”
The word mattered.
“What?”
We asked Jessica.
She checked her messages.
Then sent a screenshot from six weeks earlier.
Carter:
Do you have the full NIPT report, not just the summary?
Jessica:
Why?
Carter:
Family history.
She had sent it.
Two days later, Carter accessed Oakfield’s genetic records.
Then someone submitted the amendment naming Richard.
Maybe Carter had compared something.
Maybe he had seen enough to panic.
We sent the prenatal data to the independent geneticist.
Not for definitive paternity.
For comparison to known markers.
The answer came the next day.
The unborn child carried several paternal markers inconsistent with Carter’s family profile as Carter’s child but compatible with being Richard’s direct offspring.
Preliminary again.
Not final.
But the pattern strengthened.
The boy Jessica carried was increasingly unlikely to be Carter’s biological son.
He was likely Richard’s.
Which meant Carter had spent years sacrificing his marriage and daughters to produce the one thing his father demanded.
And if the genetics were confirmed, that “son” would belong biologically to the father whose approval Carter had been chasing all along.
Click here to continue reading: PART 20: Carter Learned the Boy Was Probably His Brother, and His Reaction Exposed the One Secret Richard Had Managed to Keep Even From Him
Five Minutes After Our Marriage Ended, Carter Said Something That Made Leaving With Our Daughters the Only Choice
Part 19 of 35
