For several seconds, I couldn't move.
Sophie was still speaking through the phone, but her words seemed to arrive from somewhere far away. I could hear the faint hum of traffic outside the guest-room window, the refrigerator cycling on downstairs, and my own breathing becoming shallow.
“The transfer was done at a private clinic,” she whispered. “Julian arranged everything.”
I pressed my palm against my forehead.
“Tell me everything.”
“I don't know everything.”
“Then tell me what you do know.”
She began crying.
“I was desperate. I had debts. Helga approached me months before I got pregnant. She said Julian wanted to help me. She said the family would take care of me if I agreed to carry a child.”
I stared at the dark room.
“You agreed?”
“I thought it was Julian's child.”
“You didn't know?”
“No.”
“Then how did you find out?”
“I found paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
“Embryology records. Your name was on them.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where are they?”
“I have copies.”
“Where?”
“I hid them.”
I stood and began pacing.
“Why didn't you go to the police?”
“Because Helga threatened me.”
“With what?”
“She knew about my debts. She knew about my family. She said she could make sure I lost everything.”
I stopped beside the window.
“What does Julian know?”
“He knows I found out.”
“And that's why you're hiding?”
“Yes.”
I gripped the phone harder.
“Sophie, where are you?”
She hesitated so long that I thought the call had dropped.
Then she gave me an address.
“Come alone.”
“No.”
“What?”
“You don't know me well enough to trust that I'll come alone.”
“Then who should come?”
“My lawyer.”
“No.”
“Sophie.”
“I can't trust lawyers.”
“You can trust mine.”
Silence.
Finally she whispered, “Tomorrow. Ten in the morning.”
The line went dead.
I remained standing with the phone against my ear.
For years I had believed that becoming a mother was the one thing my body had refused to give me. I had blamed genetics, timing, stress, bad luck, every explanation doctors offered and every explanation Julian quietly encouraged.
Now I knew there had been a child.
My child.
A child created from the embryos Julian and I had made together.
And he had given that child to another woman.
I called Daniel at 3:02 a.m.
He answered immediately.
“Claire?”
“Sophie says the embryo was mine.”
There was silence.
Then he asked carefully, “Are you sure?”
“She says she has records.”
“Don't meet her alone.”
“I know.”
“I'll arrange for someone to accompany you.”
“Daniel?”
“Yes?”
“If this is true…”
My voice broke.
“What happens to the baby?”
He didn't answer right away.
“That,” he finally said, “is what we're going to find out.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe we need evidence.”
“That isn't what I asked.”
Daniel sighed.
“I believe Sophie is frightened enough that she may finally be telling the truth.”
I looked at the locked bedroom door.
“Julian is downstairs.”
“Does he know about your call?”
“No.”
“Keep it that way.”
I promised him I would.
Then I lay down without sleeping.
At nine the next morning, Daniel arrived at the house.
He didn't come inside.
I walked out carrying a small folder and closed the door behind me.
“Are you sure about meeting her?” he asked.
“No.”
“Good answer.”
I almost smiled.
He opened the passenger door.
“We'll go together.”
The address Sophie had given me belonged to a modest apartment building on the outskirts of Baltimore. The brick exterior was stained from years of rain. Several windows had their blinds drawn despite the bright morning.
Sophie opened the door only after checking the hallway twice.
She looked nothing like the woman in Julian's photographs.
Her face was pale.
Her hair was tied back carelessly.
Her hands shook when she stepped aside.
“Come in.”
I entered.
Daniel followed.
Sophie locked the door behind us and checked it twice.
Then she looked at me.
“I am sorry.”
I didn't know what to say.
She looked down.
“I didn't know.”
“I believe you.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“I never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know.”
She walked to a cabinet and removed a clear plastic folder.
“These are copies.”
She placed them on the table.
Daniel opened the first page.
His expression changed before he said a word.
He looked at me.
“This is an embryology report.”
I moved closer.
My name was at the top.
My date of birth.
My medical record number.
An embryo identification code.
And a transfer date.
I knew that date.
Six years earlier.
I remembered Julian driving me to the clinic that morning. I remembered the gray sky. I remembered being nervous enough to keep rubbing my wedding ring with my thumb.
The doctor had told me everything was ready.
The transfer would happen that afternoon.
Julian had smiled.
“Today could be the day.”
Then, hours later, he told me there had been a complication.
The procedure had been canceled.
I had cried in the passenger seat.
He had held my hand and promised we would try again.
But the document in front of me said something entirely different.
The embryo had been transferred.
Not to me.
To Sophie.
I pressed my hand over my mouth.
“No.”
Sophie started crying.
“I didn't know it was yours.”
I couldn't look at her.
“My own husband took our embryo and gave it to you.”
“I know.”
“He told me the transfer failed.”
“I know.”
Daniel turned another page.
There was a consent form.
My signature wasn't there.
Julian's was.
Daniel's expression hardened.
“This is important.”
“Why?”
“Because your husband appears to have signed something he may not have had authority to sign.”
I looked at Sophie.
“How did he get the embryo?”
“I don't know.”
“You must know something.”
She shook her head.
“I was told the clinic had everything arranged.”
“Who told you?”
“Helga.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Then Sophie pulled another document from the folder.
“There's more.”
It was a custody agreement.
I read slowly.
Sophie would carry the baby.
After birth, she would relinquish custody to Julian.
Julian would then seek legal recognition of the child as his.
And beneath those provisions was a final clause.
Claire Bennett shall have no legal parental claim.
My hands began to shake.
“They planned this before the baby was born.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Sophie looked at Daniel.
Then back at me.
“Because Helga believed your father had left you much more money than you knew.”
I felt sick.
“So they wanted me to stay married to Julian.”
“Yes.”
“So he could control my inheritance.”
Daniel nodded grimly.
“That fits what we've already found.”
I looked at Sophie.
“Why did you agree?”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Because I was scared.”
I understood fear.
I didn't excuse what she had done.
But I understood it.
“You knew I was Julian's wife.”
“Yes.”
“And you still carried my child.”
Her eyes fell.
“Yes.”
I looked away.
“I don't hate you.”
She raised her head.
“But I don't forgive you yet.”
“I understand.”
I swallowed.
“Where is the baby?”
Sophie placed a hand over her stomach.
“Still inside me.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
For years, I had imagined my child as something that existed only in photographs in my mind.
A crib.
Tiny socks.
A first birthday.
A small hand around my finger.
Now I knew that child was real.
Alive.
Growing.
And connected to me by a secret my husband had spent years constructing.
Daniel gathered the documents.
“We need to move quickly.”
“How quickly?”
“Today.”
We returned to his office.
He began filing emergency requests concerning the embryo records, the unborn child's legal status, and the preservation of all relevant clinic documents.
Then he contacted the fertility clinic.
At first, they refused to discuss anything.
Daniel sent them the records Sophie had provided.
Within hours, their attorney called.
The clinic had opened an internal investigation.
Someone had accessed my medical file.
Someone had altered communication records.
Someone had authorized a transfer that should never have happened.
Then came the name.
Marta.
Julian's sister.
I stared at Daniel.
“Marta worked at the clinic?”
“Apparently.”
I remembered her at the family dinners.
Her polite smile.
Her occasional German comments.
The way she had once told Helga not to discuss “that matter” while I was in the room.
I had assumed she was protecting my feelings.
Now I wondered whether she had been protecting the secret.
“How many of them knew?” I whispered.
Daniel didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
The answer was already becoming clear.
Julian.
Helga.
Marta.
Possibly Klaus.
And now Sophie.
A family conspiracy had been hiding inside my marriage.
That afternoon, Daniel received another call.
His expression changed.
“What?”
He listened.
Then he looked at me.
“The clinic found a second record.”
“What record?”
“A storage disposition form.”
My heart stopped.
“What does it say?”
Daniel lowered the phone.
“It indicates someone attempted to alter the status of your remaining embryos.”
I felt cold all over.
“Who?”
He looked at the document.
“Your husband.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Clinic Found Another Record Showing Julian Had Tried to Erase What Remained of the Family He Had Secretly Stolen
The Toast My Husband Made in German Exposed a Secret He Never Expected His Wife to Understand
Part 5 of 26
