Chapter 3 - Our BabiesI read Vanessa’s email six times.
Grant looked at the papers in my hands.
Then at the open safe.
Then at me.
His expression did not show guilt.
That was the first thing I noticed.
He looked irritated.
“Claire.”
I held up the donor agreement.
“What did you do to me?”
His shoulders lowered as though I had forced him into an inconvenient conversation.
“You shouldn’t be in here.”
I almost laughed.
“Your fertility doctor implanted embryos made from your sperm and Vanessa’s eggs into my body without telling me, and your concern is that I opened your safe?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“My voice?”
“You’re pregnant.”
“With children you created with another woman.”
“They’re our children.”
“No.”
My voice cracked.
“They are children I love. Children I have carried. Children I would die protecting. But what you did was not ours.”
Grant stepped toward me.
I backed away.
“Don’t touch me.”
His jaw tightened.
“Claire, you need to understand the circumstances.”
“Explain them.”
“You wanted children.”
“I wanted our children.”
“You couldn’t produce viable eggs.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Not because I didn’t know.
Because of how easily he used my infertility as a weapon.
“I know.”
“Keller told us your chances were almost nonexistent.”
“He told us there were other options.”
“And you refused donor eggs.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
I stared at him.
For years, Grant had described that decision as evidence that he understood me.
After the second failed cycle, Keller had gently suggested using donor eggs.
I had said no.
Not forever.
I simply needed time.
My body had already stopped feeling like mine. I wanted space to grieve before deciding whether I could emotionally accept carrying a child genetically unrelated to me.
Grant had held me that night.
“We won’t do anything you’re not ready for,” he had whispered.
Apparently he had meant nothing he said.
“You overruled me.”
“I solved the problem.”
My stomach turned.
“Solved?”
“Claire, don’t twist this.”
“I was unconscious during a medical procedure. You and Keller implanted embryos into me that I never consented to carrying.”
“You consented to IVF.”
“With embryos you said came from my eggs.”
Grant exhaled sharply.
“The embryos from your retrieval failed.”
I went still.
“What?”
“They arrested before transfer.”
“That isn’t what Keller told me.”
“I know.”
I remembered the morning of the transfer.
Keller had walked in smiling.
“Two beautiful embryos.”
Grant had kissed my hand.
I had cried.
Those embryos had never been mine.
Grant continued.
“Keller knew another failed cycle would destroy you.”
“So you committed fraud to protect me?”
“We made a decision.”
“We?”
He hesitated.
That was enough.
“You and Vanessa.”
“She offered to help.”
“How generous.”
“She knew how badly we wanted a family.”
“Did she?”
My voice lowered.
“Or did she know how badly you wanted a child with her?”
His eyes sharpened.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why her?”
“She’s healthy. Educated. Similar coloring to you.”
I stared at him.
He actually thought that answer helped.
“You chose a woman who looked enough like me that you thought I’d never notice my babies weren’t genetically mine.”
“We weren’t trying to replace you.”
“You used me as a surrogate without telling me.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“That’s not fair.”
“Fair?”
I shoved the document toward him.
“Where is my signature?”
He said nothing.
“Show me.”
“Keller handled the paperwork.”
“Where is my signature, Grant?”
“There were consent forms.”
“Forged consent forms?”
Silence.
I felt the babies move.
My hand went instinctively to my belly.
Everything inside me was love.
Everything around me was betrayal.
The contrast nearly broke me.
I sank into the desk chair.
Grant approached carefully.
“Claire, whatever you feel about how this happened, those babies know your heartbeat. Your voice. Your body. You’re their mother.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“You don’t get to use my love for them to excuse what you did.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re doing it right now.”
His phone buzzed.
The screen illuminated on the desk.
Vanessa.
At 1:34 in the morning.
We both looked at it.
Grant quickly turned the phone over.
That tiny movement told me more than any confession.
“How long?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“How long have you been sleeping with her?”
“I’m not.”
“Don’t insult me again.”
“I have never slept with Vanessa.”
“Then answer her.”
“Claire—”
“Answer.”
He declined the call.
Three seconds later, a message appeared.
Did she find out? Call me immediately.
I read it.
Grant closed his eyes.
I stood.
“She knows.”
“Of course she knows she donated the eggs.”
“She knows I was never told.”
He said nothing.
“How long has she known?”
“From the beginning.”
Something inside me went cold.
My best friend had watched me talk to my stomach.
Had listened as I worried Baby A had Grant’s nose.
Had smiled when I wondered whether Baby B might have inherited my mother’s dimples.
All while knowing.
I walked toward the door.
Grant blocked me.
“Where are you going?”
“Move.”
“Not while you’re this upset.”
“Move away from me.”
“Claire, think about the babies.”
I looked directly into his eyes.
“That is the only thing I’m thinking about.”
He stepped aside.
I went upstairs, packed a small suitcase, my medications, prenatal records, and laptop.
Grant followed.
“You’re not driving anywhere at two in the morning.”
“I’ll call a car.”
“To where?”
I paused.
My parents were dead.
My sister lived in Oregon.
Most of my friends belonged to our shared social circle.
And the woman I would once have called first was Vanessa.
“I’ll figure it out.”
“Claire, please.”
For the first time, fear entered his voice.
That gave me strength.
I left.
At 2:11 a.m., I sat in the back of a rideshare with one suitcase beside me and my hand over my belly.
I booked a suite at a hotel near SouthPark.
Then I called the one person Grant would never expect.
My cousin, attorney Rebecca Shaw.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Claire?”
“I need help.”
“What happened?”
I looked through the window as our house disappeared behind the trees.
“My husband and my fertility doctor used another woman’s eggs without my consent.”
Rebecca was silent.
Then her voice changed.
Not cousin Rebecca.
Attorney Rebecca.
“Do you have evidence?”
“Yes.”
“Do not confront anyone else. Do not sign anything. Do not surrender your phone. And tomorrow morning, we start preserving every record.”
I swallowed.
“There’s more.”
“What?”
“The donor is Vanessa Hart.”
Rebecca knew the name.
Everyone did.
Vanessa was Grant’s business partner at Mercer Hart Development.
Rebecca whispered, “Jesus.”
“I think Grant is having an affair with her.”
“Do you have proof?”
“Not yet.”
“Then we don’t allege it yet.”
“We?”
“You called me. So yes, we.”
For the first time that night, I almost cried from relief.
Rebecca continued.
“Claire, listen carefully. Whatever happens between you and Grant, your immediate priorities are your health, the babies, and evidence preservation. Tomorrow, you get an independent obstetrician. After that, we deal with Keller.”
I leaned back against the seat.
“There’s something I don’t understand.”
“What?”
“Why Vanessa?”
Rebecca was quiet.
“What do you mean?”
“She could have donated anonymously if she genuinely wanted to help. Why hide her identity? Why let me believe the embryos were genetically mine?”
“That’s the question.”
I looked down at the photograph still inside my purse.
Grant and Vanessa.
His hand around her waist.
Her face turned toward him.
Rebecca added, “And Claire?”
“Yes?”
“If they were willing to lie about whose eggs were used, assume that may not be the only thing they lied about.”
The following morning proved she was right.
At 9:06 a.m., Rebecca’s investigator recovered something from an old cloud backup linked to our family tablet.
A deleted email.
From Vanessa.
To Grant.
Sent eleven months before my pregnancy.
The subject line contained only two words.
Our babies.
May you like
And the message underneath changed the entire meaning of my marriage.
You promised me Claire would never know they were biologically ours. Once the twins are born, we can finally decide how to handle her.
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