Elise did not speak for almost a full minute.
October seventeenth.
The date meant something to her.
That much was obvious.
She sat with her hands clasped so tightly her knuckles whitened.
Felix stood across from her.
“What happened that night?”
“I said I don’t remember.”
“You remember something.”
She closed her eyes.
“There was a fundraiser.”
“The hospital event?”
“Yes.”
“The one where you met Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“How much did you drink?”
“Not much.”
“Elise.”
“Two glasses of wine.”
“And then?”
“I felt sick.”
Caroline leaned forward.
“What kind of sick?”
“Dizzy.”
“Nauseated?”
“Yes.”
“Confused?”
Elise opened her eyes.
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“What happened next?”
“I remember Daniel helping me outside.”
Felix’s jaw tightened.
“And?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“I woke up the next morning.”
“Where?”
“At the apartment.”
“The apartment Felix uses?”
“Yes.”
“Was Felix there?”
“No.”
“Daniel?”
“No.”
“Anyone?”
“No.”
I watched her face.
There was real fear now.
Not guilt.
Not evasion.
Fear.
“What were you wearing?” Caroline asked.
Elise looked at her.
“What?”
“When you woke up.”
Elise went still.
“I don’t know.”
“Think.”
She swallowed.
“My dress.”
“Same clothes?”
“Yes.”
“Shoes?”
“By the door.”
“Underwear?”
Felix snapped, “Caroline.”
She did not look at him.
“I’m asking because missing time can mean many things.”
Elise looked down.
“I don’t remember.”
Caroline softened slightly.
“Did anything feel wrong physically?”
“I had cramps.”
My skin prickled.
“What kind?”
“Lower abdomen.”
“How long?”
“A day.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“Felix.”
He nodded.
“I remember.”
“What did you think caused it?”
“She said food poisoning.”
Elise looked at him.
“That’s what Martin’s doctor told me.”
Silence.
Again.
Martin’s doctor.
“Who?” I asked.
“Dr. Keller.”
Felix frowned.
“You saw Keller?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Martin sent him.”
“Where?”
“To the apartment.”
I said, “The morning after.”
“Yes.”
Caroline took out her phone.
“What’s his full name?”
“Matthew Keller.”
She searched.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“Reproductive endocrinology.”
The room went quiet.
Not general medicine.
Not emergency care.
Fertility.
I felt the first cold shape of the possibility before anyone said it.
Elise saw it too.
“No.”
Caroline looked up.
“Keller’s affiliated with Mercer Biomedical.”
Harold swore under his breath.
Felix stepped back.
“No.”
Elise stood.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“Elise.”
“No.”
“You have missing hours, abdominal cramps, and a fertility specialist examining you the next morning.”
She stared at me.
“No.”
I hated saying it.
But someone had to.
“You may not have conceived through sex at all.”
The words broke something in the room.
Elise shook her head violently.
“No.”
Felix whispered, “What?”
Caroline stood.
“Non-consensual insemination would be criminal.”
Harold looked horrified.
Even Ingrid, who had spent most of the evening protecting the family, seemed physically ill.
Sabine said, “Could it happen without her knowing?”
Caroline answered carefully.
“Not in any ordinary clinical setting. But with sedation or impaired consciousness—”
“Stop.”
Elise’s voice cracked.
Nobody moved.
She pressed both hands over her mouth.
Then she started crying.
Not quietly.
Not gracefully.
The kind of crying that comes when your body itself becomes uncertain.
Felix moved toward her.
She backed away.
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
“I’m not blaming you.”
“I know.”
“Then—”
“I don’t want anyone touching me.”
He nodded.
I understood that.
Too well.
For years, doctors had touched me in service of becoming pregnant.
Every exam was consensual.
Every treatment explained.
Every failed cycle painful but mine.
The idea that someone might have taken that same medical machinery and used it on Elise without consent made the room feel contaminated.
Caroline called Daniel again.
No answer.
Again.
Voicemail.
She left none.
I called.
Still nothing.
Felix said, “We need the clinic records.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Now.”
Caroline shook her head.
“Getting medical records tonight is unlikely.”
“There has to be another way.”
Laura spoke.
“There is.”
Everyone turned.
She looked exhausted.
“Dr. Keller keeps private procedure logs.”
Caroline narrowed her eyes.
“How do you know?”
“Because I processed invoices.”
“For Martin?”
“Yes.”
“Where are the logs?”
“His office.”
“Which office?”
“Mercer Biomedical campus.”
Harold stood.
“No.”
This time I almost laughed.
Every useful lead began with Harold saying no.
“Why?”
“That facility has security.”
“So?”
“So you cannot simply walk in.”
Laura said, “I can.”
Martin’s former paralegal looked at us.
“My access badge still works.”
Caroline asked, “Why?”
“Because nobody bothered to deactivate it.”
“Or because Martin expected you to keep working for him.”
Laura looked down.
“Probably.”
I studied her.
“Why help now?”
She looked at the forged document on the table.
“Because I crossed lines I told myself were administrative.”
Her voice shook.
“Tonight I realized I don’t know where the lines stopped.”
That sounded familiar.
Everyone in this story had discovered morality only after consequences arrived.
Still, late help was sometimes the only help available.
We split up.
Caroline and Laura went to Mercer Biomedical.
Sabine remained with the codicil.
Harold and Ingrid stayed because neither trusted the other to leave.
Felix sat across from Elise without speaking.
I stood near the window.
At some point, the family dinner became an overnight siege.
Coffee replaced wine.
Candles burned low.
Nobody touched dessert.
At 11:46, Caroline called.
“I’m inside.”
I put her on speaker.
“Did you find Keller’s office?”
“Yes.”
“Logs?”
“Locked cabinet.”
Laura’s voice came faintly in the background.
“I have the key.”
A pause.
Metal.
Paper.
Then silence.
“Caroline?”
“I’m reading.”
“What?”
Another pause.
“Oh God.”
Elise closed her eyes.
Felix gripped the table.
Caroline continued.
“October seventeenth. Private visit. Female patient listed as A. Weber.”
Anna Weber again.
“What procedure?” I asked.
Caroline did not answer immediately.
“Embryo transfer.”
Nobody breathed.
Elise whispered, “No.”
Caroline kept reading.
“Sedation administered.”
Felix stood.
“Whose embryo?”
“Record says donor material.”
“What donor?”
“I’m looking.”
Pages turned.
Then Caroline said, “There’s a code.”
“What code?”
“DM-17.”
Harold went white.
I noticed.
“What does that mean?”
He said nothing.
“Harold.”
He looked at me.
“Daniel Mercer.”
Elise made a sound I will never forget.
Not a scream.
Something lower.
Something stunned out of the body before language.
Felix sat down hard.
“So she was impregnated with Daniel’s child.”
Caroline said, “That’s what this log indicates.”
Elise shook her head.
“No consent.”
“No consent form in the file,” Caroline said.
“Nothing?”
“Not here.”
Laura’s voice came through.
“There’s another code.”
Caroline paused.
“What?”
Laura read.
“NWB-01.”
My initials.
My blood went cold.
“Nora Whitmore Blake.”
Felix turned toward me.
“No.”
Caroline went quiet.
I said, “What is NWB-01 attached to?”
Paper moved.
Then she answered.
“Patient genetic profile.”
I sat down.
“Mine.”
“Yes.”
“Why is my profile in Elise’s embryo-transfer file?”
Nobody spoke.
My own voice sounded far away.
“What part of my profile?”
Caroline read silently.
Then swore.
“Elise.”
“What?”
“The embryo wasn’t created only with Daniel’s donor material.”
I felt the room change.
That made no biological sense.
Unless—
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
Caroline continued carefully.
“Procedure notes reference an oocyte source coded NWB-01.”
I stopped breathing.
Felix stood.
“What is an oocyte source?”
Caroline did not answer.
I did.
“Egg.”
The word barely came out.
Elise stared at me.
I stared back.
My body went cold from the inside.
For six years, Felix and I had undergone fertility treatments.
Egg retrievals.
Hormone injections.
Embryology reports.
Failed cycles.
Disposal forms.
Storage forms.
Too many consent documents.
Too many samples.
Too much trust.
Caroline’s voice came through the speaker.
“Nora.”
I could not answer.
She said it again.
“Nora, this file indicates your stored egg material may have been used.”
Elise’s hands moved instinctively to her stomach.
Her face collapsed.
“No.”
Felix looked as though he might be sick.
“Whose child is she?”
Nobody answered.
Caroline did.
“If this record is accurate, biologically the baby could be Nora’s and Daniel Mercer’s.”
I closed my eyes.
The room disappeared.
For years, I had mourned the children I could not have.
For years, I had been told my treatments failed.
Now somewhere inside the woman my husband had betrayed me with, a child might be growing from one of my stolen eggs.
When I opened my eyes, Elise was looking at me.
Not like a rival.
Not like an enemy.
Like another woman whose body had been entered into a plan without permission.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I looked.
YOU FINALLY FOUND THE PROCEDURE LOG.
Another message.
NOW FIND OUT WHY NORA’S EMBRYOS WERE NEVER MEANT TO FAIL.
Click here to continue reading: PART 16: My Fertility Treatments Had Been Sabotaged for Years, and Felix Finally Learned the Child He Thought He Lost Had Never Been Lost at All
At His Family’s Dinner Table, My Husband Said One German Sentence He Never Expected Me to Understand
Part 15 of 35
