Chapter 9 - My Mother’s SecretI thought there had been enough lies.
Dr. Shah repeated my name.
“Lauren?”
“I’m here.”
“I want you to understand that this is preliminary.”
“You said the twins may have different fathers.”
“Yes.”
“How is that possible?”
“It’s rare, but biologically possible. It’s called heteropaternal superfecundation.”
I stared at the wall.
“I’ve never slept with anyone except David.”
“I believe you.”
“Then there can’t be two fathers.”
“That’s why we need to confirm what we’re seeing.”
My mind raced through impossible explanations.
Lab error.
Contamination.
Something connected to Sterling.
“Could what happened three years ago cause this?”
“Not directly.”
“Could one of my eggs have been fertilized somehow and remained inside me for three years?”
“No.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t yet.”
Fear became anger.
“I’m tired of people telling me impossible things happened to my body.”
“I know.”
Dr. Shah’s voice softened.
“We’re going to investigate carefully.”
An amniocentesis could provide clearer fetal DNA later, but because of the risks and the stage of pregnancy, Dr. Shah recommended beginning with a noninvasive paternity analysis using my blood and David’s DNA.
David initially refused.
Then his criminal attorney apparently persuaded him that refusal would look worse.
He submitted a sample.
The results came ten days later.
Twin A was overwhelmingly consistent with David being the biological father.
Twin B was not.
I read the report until the words became meaningless.
David’s reaction arrived within minutes.
I KNEW IT.
Then:
Who is the father?
I handed the phone to Nathaniel.
“I don’t know.”
He stared at the report.
“Have you ever received donor insemination?”
“No.”
“Any procedure since Sterling?”
“No.”
“Any fertility medication recently?”
“No.”
“Sexual assault?”
“No.”
I shook my head violently.
“There has been nobody except David.”
Nathaniel believed me.
Dr. Shah believed me.
Rachel believed me.
But scientifically, Twin B had DNA from someone else.
That left only one possibility.
Somebody had done something to me that I did not know about.
Again.
Investigators reopened every detail of my recent medical history.
Then Dr. Shah found the clue.
My pregnancy wasn’t entirely spontaneous.
Six weeks before the positive test, I had undergone a routine gynecological procedure at Lakeview Outpatient Center.
A hysterosalpingogram.
It had been ordered to assess whether my fallopian tubes were blocked.
David had encouraged it.
In fact, he insisted.
“You’ve waited long enough,” he told me.
“If we’re serious about trying again, we need answers.”
That was before he told me about the vasectomy.
The procedure involved inserting contrast material through the cervix.
Normally, nothing else.
But the center’s records showed something strange.
A second syringe had been logged into my procedure room.
Labeled with a numeric code.
No medication name.
No documentation explaining its use.
The technician responsible had left the company two weeks later.
Her name was Cassandra Vale.
Investigators found her in Kentucky.
When questioned, she asked for an attorney.
Then she asked whether Meridian Biogenics was offering immunity.
The case exploded.
Meridian, it turned out, had not fully died with Sterling.
Its reproductive research had been transferred through shell companies.
One of them funded a “fertility-assistance initiative” at Lakeview.
Cassandra eventually agreed to speak.
What she said sounded impossible.
A Meridian executive had paid clinic employees to test an experimental sperm-preparation technique on selected patients.
Without consent.
My name had been included because of my old Sterling patient code.
Someone had never removed me from the research database.
During my procedure, a sperm sample had allegedly been introduced.
I sat in a state investigator’s office listening to a woman explain that someone had secretly inseminated me like I was laboratory equipment.
“Whose sperm?” I asked.
The investigator, Agent Morris, looked grim.
“We’re tracing the sample.”
“Was it random?”
“We don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“The code indicates a designated donor.”
“What does that mean?”
“It may have come from someone associated with the original Meridian project.”
My heart pounded.
“David?”
“No. We already know Twin B is not genetically consistent with him.”
“Then who?”
“We’re working on it.”
When David learned that the second father might be connected to Meridian, his accusations abruptly stopped.
Instead, he asked through his attorney for a confidential meeting.
Nathaniel advised against it.
I insisted.
Not alone.
The meeting took place in a conference room with both legal teams present.
David looked older.
Gray beneath the eyes.
His expensive suit hung loosely.
For several seconds, we stared at each other.
Then he said, “I didn’t know about Lakeview.”
I believed that.
Not because I trusted him.
Because he looked genuinely terrified.
“Did you know Meridian kept operating?”
“Yes.”
Nathaniel leaned forward.
“How?”
David’s attorney touched his arm.
David ignored him.
“They restructured.”
“Who?”
“Dr. Warren Bell.”
The name meant nothing to me.
David continued.
“He ran Meridian’s reproductive division.”
“Was he at Sterling?”
“Yes.”
“What did he do?”
“He designed the data project.”
Nathaniel asked, “And the tissue-use program?”
David looked down.
“I didn’t know all of it at first.”
My hands curled into fists.
“At first.”
David closed his eyes.
“I thought patients were signing broad research consent.”
“You watched them forge my signature.”
“I didn’t watch anyone forge it.”
“You signed underneath it.”
“I was told you had signed earlier.”
“You knew I hadn’t.”
He looked at me.
“I knew afterward.”
My throat burned.
“And you stayed quiet.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He laughed bitterly.
“Because I was a coward.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“You were paid.”
His eyes filled.
“I told myself it wasn’t connected.”
“Three hundred thousand dollars.”
“I know.”
“You bought our house with it.”
“I know.”
“You slept beside me for three years knowing somebody stole eggs from my body.”
“I know.”
“You watched me cry because I thought I couldn’t have children.”
His face crumpled.
That was the moment I finally saw guilt.
Real guilt.
Too late to matter.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
My voice was quiet.
“You are sorry you got caught.”
He flinched.
Then Nathaniel asked, “Who was the designated donor in Meridian’s program?”
David went still.
“I don’t know.”
“You know something.”
David looked at his lawyer.
The lawyer whispered, “Don’t.”
David looked back at me.
“Bell used staff samples sometimes.”
“What staff?”
“Researchers. Executives. Consultants.”
I felt cold.
“Did you provide sperm?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
“I don’t know.”
“Names.”
“I don’t know all of them.”
“Give us one.”
His mouth tightened.
Then he whispered, “Evan Mercer.”
Agent Morris had mentioned that name.
Meridian’s former chief scientific officer.
Nathaniel wrote it down.
“Anyone else?”
David hesitated.
Then:
“Dr. Bell himself.”
My stomach turned.
The idea that Twin B could be the biological child of a man who had overseen experiments on women made me want to tear the walls apart.
DNA testing began.
Evan Mercer was excluded.
Then Dr. Warren Bell’s sample was obtained through a court order.
Excluded.
Three more former Meridian employees were tested.
Excluded.
Weeks passed.
My belly grew.
The twins kicked.
I learned to distinguish them.
Twin A was lower and more active at night.
Twin B seemed to move whenever I ate oranges.
They were mine.
Whatever crimes surrounded their conception, they were innocent.
Then investigators found an old frozen donor inventory from Meridian.
One sample matched the unidentified paternal DNA.
It belonged to a man named Jonathan Pierce.
I had never heard that name.
Agent Morris brought me a photograph.
The moment I saw it, I stopped breathing.
Jonathan Pierce had dark hair.
Gray eyes.
A crooked smile.
He looked almost exactly like someone I knew.
My father.
Not David.
My father.
I stared at Agent Morris.
“Who is he?”
Morris hesitated.
“Jonathan Pierce died six years ago.”
“Why does he look like my family?”
“We were hoping you could tell us.”
I shook my head.
“I’ve never seen him.”
Then my mother, sitting beside me, made a choking sound.
I turned.
She was white as paper.
“Mom?”
She stared at the photograph.
“Oh my God.”
“You know him.”
She covered her mouth.
“Mom.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“His real name wasn’t Jonathan Pierce.”
My heart began pounding.
“What was it?”
She looked at me.
“Jonathan Bennett.”
“Who is Jonathan Bennett?”
May you like
My mother started crying.
“Your uncle.”
Related Stories
