No one spoke after Thomas said Emily’s name.
The kitchen seemed to hold its breath with us.
Thomas remained on speakerphone, his breathing faint through the small metal grille. Jake sat beside the phone with his hand still resting over Michael’s. Michael did not move it.
I was the first to speak.
“What does Emily have to do with my embryo?”
Thomas took so long to answer that I thought the call had dropped.
Then he said, “Leonard used one.”
The sentence made no sense at first.
“Used one how?”
“Transferred it.”
“To Emily’s mother?”
“Yes.”
Michael whispered, “Jesus.”
Jake leaned toward the phone.
“So Emily is…”
Thomas interrupted.
“No.”
His voice sharpened for the first time.
“Not Emily.”
I pressed my palm against the table.
“Then who?”
“Emily’s mother received an embryo during an earlier cycle. That was part of the original Harris problem. Years later, after your remaining embryos disappeared from Vale’s storage, Leonard transferred one of yours to another patient connected to the Harris family.”
“Connected how?”
Thomas exhaled.
“Emily.”
I stared at the phone.
“You’re saying Emily carried my embryo.”
“Yes.”
The words struck in pieces.
Emily Harris Monroe.
Forty-eight now.
Older than Jake.
She could not have carried anything when my embryos disappeared.
“That’s impossible.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“She would have been a child.”
“The transfer didn’t happen when your embryos first vanished.”
“What?”
Thomas paused.
“Leonard moved them.”
I gripped the table.
“Moved them where?”
“To long-term private storage.”
“For how long?”
“One for approximately fourteen years.”
The kitchen disappeared around me.
Fourteen years.
Jake would have been sixteen.
Emily would have been in her early thirties.
“Why?” I asked.
“I never understood the full reason.”
“Then tell me the part you do understand.”
“Leonard was trying to conceal the chain of custody.”
Michael spoke.
“From the investigation?”
“Partly.”
“Partly?”
“From Daniel.”
Thomas’s voice had changed.
The name Harris seemed to carry its own weight for him.
“Daniel had begun reconstructing what Vale had done to Emily’s conception. He suspected other unauthorized uses of reproductive material. Leonard moved anything that could connect the cases.”
I stared at the copied ledger.
“Why keep embryos instead of destroying them?”
“I asked him that once.”
“You spoke to Vale after Jake was born?”
“Several times.”
“You never told me.”
“I was kept away from you.”
“That stopped you from calling?”
“Yes.”
The answer was weak.
Thomas knew it.
I let the silence punish him.
Finally he said, “And I was a coward.”
That was harder to argue with.
Jake asked, “If Emily carried one of Mom’s embryos, did she know?”
Thomas’s breathing became uneven.
“I don’t know what she was told at the beginning.”
“At the beginning of what?”
“Her fertility treatment.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Secrets replicating themselves through another generation.
“Did Emily have trouble conceiving?”
“Yes.”
“Who treated her?”
“Not Vale directly. By then he was no longer practicing openly.”
“Then how did he get involved?”
“He consulted privately through another doctor.”
“Name.”
“I don’t know.”
I did not believe that completely.
“Thomas.”
“I genuinely don’t know.”
I looked at Michael.
He gave the smallest nod.
For once, he recognized the tone too.
Jake said, “How do you know an embryo belonging to Mom was transferred?”
Thomas took a breath.
“Daniel found a storage identifier.”
“The E7 code?”
“Yes.”
“E7-A?”
“Yes.”
My pulse jumped.
Patricia’s notebook.
Successful pregnancy reported.
That had been the embryo.
“Did Emily carry the pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
“Was a child born?”
Thomas became silent.
My throat tightened.
“Was there?”
“Yes.”
Jake sat back.
The single word made him pale.
I could not tell what I felt.
There are moments when the mind refuses emotion because fact itself consumes all available space.
“What happened to the child?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said there was a successful pregnancy.”
“I know a live birth was reported.”
“Boy or girl?”
“A girl.”
“How old?”
Thomas hesitated.
“If the dates I saw were accurate, twenty-three now.”
I did the arithmetic automatically.
Jake was thirty-one.
The girl would be eight years younger.
A daughter genetically created from my egg and Thomas’s sperm.
Jake’s full biological sister.
Carried by Emily Harris.
Raised by someone else.
Possibly unaware of all of it.
Michael sat down harder.
Jake whispered, “I have a sister.”
I looked at him.
“Biologically, probably.”
“Probably?”
“We still need proof.”
His eyes flashed.
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Because people guessing instead of proving things is how this happened.”
That stopped him.
Thomas said quietly, “Susan is right.”
I looked toward the phone.
“Don’t use my judgment to make yourself useful.”
He accepted that too.
“Fair.”
I asked, “Did my mother know about Emily’s pregnancy?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“She knew about almost everything else.”
“This was one of the things Leonard hid from her.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because by then Margaret had begun threatening him.”
Michael looked up.
“Over what?”
“Jake.”
Thomas continued.
“She became frightened about the degree of genetic relationship involved.”
I almost laughed.
“She arranged it.”
“She understood the risk too late.”
“Convenient.”
“It doesn’t excuse her.”
“No.”
“Once Jake was born healthy, she tried to convince herself it had worked.”
Jake flinched at the word worked.
Thomas heard nothing.
“Then Daniel raised concerns about long-term hereditary risk. Margaret wanted all remaining embryos destroyed.”
My stomach tightened.
“She ordered them destroyed?”
“Yes.”
“Did she have authority?”
“No.”
“Did Vale agree?”
“He told her he had.”
I looked at the E7 records.
“But he kept them.”
“Yes.”
Michael asked, “Why?”
Thomas sighed.
“Leonard believed his work belonged to him.”
The statement chilled me.
“Meaning?”
“He didn’t see embryos as belonging entirely to patients.”
I felt sick.
“What did he see them as?”
“Research assets.”
Jake stood up and walked away.
Michael closed his eyes.
I said, “Did Vale use my embryos experimentally?”
“One was transferred to Emily during fertility treatment. The other…”
He stopped.
“What about the other?”
“I don’t know.”
“Patricia’s notebook says released.”
“Yes.”
“Released where?”
“I never found out.”
I looked at Michael.
“That’s E7-B.”
He nodded.
Thomas said, “Daniel searched for it until he died.”
That connected another thread.
“Is that why Harris was so concerned in 2008?”
“Yes.”
“He saw my overdose admission as a chance to get genetic material.”
“Not a chance.”
Thomas corrected himself.
“An opportunity created by a medical emergency.”
“That sounds better to you?”
“No.”
“Did he have my permission?”
“For the test?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
My anger sharpened.
“So Harris was also willing to use me without consent.”
“He believed it was necessary.”
“Everyone believed that.”
Thomas became quiet.
I continued.
“My mother believed it was necessary to choose your sperm. Vale believed it was necessary to retrieve my eggs under vague consent. Harris believed it was necessary to test me while I was unconscious. Michael believed it was necessary to let me stay ignorant.”
Michael looked down.
“And now all of you get to tell me you were protecting something.”
No one answered.
That silence was the closest thing to truth I had heard all week.
Jake returned to the table.
“What’s the daughter’s name?”
Thomas inhaled.
“I don’t know.”
“You know Emily carried her.”
“Yes.”
“You know she was born.”
“Yes.”
“You know the age.”
“Yes.”
“But not the name?”
“I never found it.”
Jake did not believe him.
Neither did I.
“Thomas.”
He hesitated.
“What?”
“If you know, tell us now.”
“I don’t know her full name.”
That phrasing caught me.
“What do you know?”
“A first initial.”
Jake leaned closer.
“What?”
“M.”
My mind searched Emily’s obituary, public profile, family references.
Had there been children listed?
I picked up my phone.
Michael stopped me.
“Susan.”
“What?”
“Remember what you said about not ambushing strangers.”
“I’m searching public information.”
“That becomes easy to turn into more.”
He was right.
I hated that.
I set down the phone.
“Did Daniel know the girl?”
“Yes.”
“Did he consider her his granddaughter?”
“Yes.”
“Was she raised by Emily?”
“I believe so.”
“Then why couldn’t he simply test her?”
Thomas became quiet.
“Because Emily refused.”
That changed things.
“She knew something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Enough to distrust him.”
“What did Harris tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she know the pregnancy came from donated embryos?”
“I believe she knew there had been donor assistance.”
“Did she know I was the genetic mother?”
“I don’t think so.”
Jake asked, “Did she know Thomas was the genetic father?”
“No.”
The scale of the deception seemed almost impossible.
Not one family.
Several.
Not one secret.
Layers of them, each created to hide the previous one.
Thomas spoke again.
“Susan, you should contact Emily carefully.”
“Why carefully?”
“Because Daniel tried to tell her something before he died.”
“What?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Stop saying that.”
“I’m sorry.”
“What do you know?”
“He called me three weeks before his death.”
“Why?”
“He said he had finally found the original storage transfer record.”
For the first time, Thomas sounded frightened.
“What did it show?”
“He wouldn’t tell me over the phone.”
“Why?”
“He said he wanted to speak in person.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He died first.”
The room became very still.
Michael said, “From what?”
“Heart failure.”
I remembered the obituary.
Natural causes.
No mystery.
No drama.
Just a man dying before finishing a confession.
“What happened to the record?” I asked.
“I don’t know.”
“His daughter might have it.”
“Yes.”
Emily again.
Every path led back to her.
Jake sat down beside me.
“Mom.”
I turned.
“We need to know.”
“I know.”
“No. I mean I need to.”
His voice was steady.
“She may have carried my sister.”
I nodded.
“I understand.”
He looked toward Michael.
“Dad?”
Michael hesitated.
Then said, “I think you should know your medical and biological history.”
Jake gave him a tired smile.
“That sounded painfully careful.”
“I’m learning.”
“So am I.”
I picked up the phone.
This time I did not search for Emily’s home.
I called the nonprofit where she worked.
A receptionist answered.
I asked to leave a message.
“What is this regarding?”
I looked at Jake.
He nodded.
“Her father, Dr. Daniel Harris.”
The receptionist paused.
“May I have your name?”
“Susan Carter.”
Another pause.
“Could you spell that?”
I did.
There was silence on the line.
Then the receptionist said, “Mrs. Carter?”
“Yes?”
“Ms. Monroe left instructions several years ago that if anyone named Susan Carter ever contacted this office, we were to give you a different number.”
Every person at the table froze.
“What?”
“I have a sealed note in the administrative file.”
My heart began pounding.
“She left that instruction?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. Before I started here.”
“Can you give me the number?”
“Yes.”
She read it slowly.
I wrote it down.
After we disconnected, no one spoke.
Jake stared at the paper.
“She was waiting for you.”
I looked at the number.
So had Thomas.
So had Patricia.
Perhaps everyone had been waiting for the one person who had been deliberately prevented from asking.
I called.
It rang twice.
A woman answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice was controlled.
Professional.
I said, “Emily?”
Silence.
Then:
“Susan Carter?”
I closed my eyes.
“Yes.”
Emily exhaled.
“I wondered if you would ever find me.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Emily Had Been Waiting Years for My Call, but the Child She Raised Was Not the Only Secret Daniel Harris Left Behind
For Eighteen Years My Husband Slept Ten Feet Away, Until One Ordinary Appointment Made Our Silence Feel Suddenly Dangerous
Part 13 of 35
