“Yes.”
Emily’s answer filled the car.
Jake lowered his phone.
Michael kept both hands on the steering wheel.
I watched the highway slide beneath us through the windshield.
“Who?”
Emily hesitated.
“Her name is Natalie Reed.”
Her.
A daughter.
Jake looked at me.
“How old?”
“Twenty-six.”
“Where does she live?”
“I’m not giving you the address yet.”
“Good,” I said.
Jake glanced at me.
I could see him remembering Ethan.
This time we knew better.
“What exactly did you find?” I asked.
“A transfer record tied to E7-B.”
The second missing embryo.
One of the embryos created from my egg and Thomas’s sperm.
Jake’s full biological sibling.
“Are you certain?”
“Certain the record identifies E7-B. The rest still needs independent confirmation.”
“What happened to the overseas lead?”
“Wrong interpretation.”
Emily shuffled papers.
“My father wrote O/S beside the transfer.”
“Overseas?”
“That’s what Thomas assumed. But Daniel used O/S to mean off-site.”
Michael exhaled.
“One abbreviation created twenty years of confusion.”
“Yes.”
“Where was it transferred?”
“Cedar Grove Fertility Center.”
I wrote the name down.
“Still operating?”
“Under another name.”
“Who received the embryo?”
“I’m not going to say until we verify the record.”
“Fair.”
Jake leaned between the front seats.
“But the birth confirmation names Natalie?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Daniel apparently obtained a follow-up sheet years later.”
“Does it say the recipient knew she was receiving a donated embryo?”
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“Then at least one person was told something.”
“Something,” Emily emphasized.
“Not necessarily the truth.”
Of course.
“What was she told?”
“That the embryo came from an anonymous couple who had completed their family.”
I stared at the dashboard.
Another false story.
But unlike Rachel Mercer, Natalie’s mother had apparently known the embryo was not genetically hers.
“Did she consent to donor embryo treatment?”
“Yes.”
“That matters.”
“It does.”
Not every wrong in this chain was identical.
I needed to remember that.
Jake asked, “Does Natalie know?”
Emily became silent.
“Know what?”
“That she was donor-conceived?”
“I don’t know.”
“Does she know about us?”
Another pause.
“Possibly.”
I turned toward the phone.
“Why possibly?”
“I found something else.”
Paper rustled.
“A letter.”
“From Natalie?”
“Apparently.”
“To Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“Before he died.”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
Emily hesitated.
“I think you should hear this directly.”
“Read it.”
She did.
Natalie had written to Daniel after obtaining consumer DNA results.
The test had produced several unexpected distant relatives.
Lawson relatives.
My relatives.
She had contacted one of them.
That person had told her the Lawson family history was complicated and suggested Daniel Harris might understand why.
My pulse accelerated.
“What did Daniel tell her?”
“I haven’t found his response.”
“Did she mention Thomas?”
“No.”
“Me?”
Emily paused.
“Yes.”
Jake sat forward.
“She knew Mom’s name?”
“She had found a Susan Carter in one of Daniel’s older research references.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she ask?”
Emily read the line.
Could Susan Carter be connected to my biological origins?
The question had been waiting for three years.
A stranger had already been searching for me.
“Did Daniel answer?”
“I don’t know.”
“We need to find out.”
“Yes.”
“Does the letter include contact information?”
“Yes.”
“Old?”
“Probably.”
Jake asked, “Can we call?”
I thought about Ethan.
His demand.
No one contacts anyone else who might be connected to me without asking first.
Natalie was not connected to Ethan through the same paternal line, but she was part of the same hidden reproductive history.
Still, Ethan’s boundary mattered.
So did Natalie’s obvious attempt to find answers.
“She already reached out,” I said.
Jake nodded.
“That changes it.”
Michael agreed.
“She was looking for Susan.”
I called Emily after we reached home rather than making contact from the car.
We reviewed the letter together.
Natalie had included an email address.
Emily sent a short message.
Daniel Harris’s daughter was reviewing his files and had found Natalie’s correspondence.
She asked whether Natalie was still seeking information.
Nothing more.
No revelation.
No names beyond mine, which Natalie had already known.
Then we waited.
I hated waiting.
By evening, there was no reply.
Jake stayed for dinner.
Michael cooked because I had no appetite.
Halfway through the meal, Jake’s phone rang.
He looked at the screen.
“Ethan.”
“Answer.”
He stepped into the living room.
Five minutes later, he returned.
“He scheduled genetic counseling.”
“That’s good.”
“He asked whether I’d go.”
My chest tightened.
“Will you?”
“Yes.”
He smiled faintly.
“I think he doesn’t want to walk into it alone.”
That was already a relationship.
Not one biology could define.
One choice could.
At nine-fifteen, Emily called.
“She replied.”
My heart jumped.
“What did she say?”
“Three sentences.”
Emily read them.
Yes, I am still looking.
I believe Susan Carter may be my biological mother.
Please ask her whether she is willing to speak to me.
I closed my eyes.
Jake whispered, “Wow.”
I took the phone.
“Tell her yes.”
Emily did.
Natalie replied almost immediately with a phone number.
I stared at it.
Michael sat across from me.
“You don’t have to do it tonight.”
“I know.”
That mattered.
He was offering choice rather than delay.
I dialed.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then a woman answered.
“Hello?”
“Natalie?”
“Yes.”
“This is Susan Carter.”
There was no sound for several seconds.
Then Natalie exhaled.
“Oh my God.”
Her voice shook.
“I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t apologize.”
“I’ve imagined this call so many times.”
My throat tightened.
“How long have you known?”
“That something was wrong? Since I was twenty-one.”
“Your DNA test.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know you were donor-conceived?”
Another silence.
“No.”
My heart sank.
“How did you find out?”
“My mother told me after the test.”
“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Does she know you’re talking to me?”
“Yes.”
That was a relief.
“What were you told about the embryo?”
“That it came from anonymous donors.”
“Did your mother know more?”
“No.”
“Did she know the clinic had transferred an embryo created for another patient?”
Natalie inhaled sharply.
“No.”
I had moved too fast.
“Sorry.”
“What do you mean created for another patient?”
I closed my eyes.
There was no gentle version that was also truthful.
“The records indicate the embryo used in your mother’s pregnancy originally came from my fertility treatment.”
Silence.
“You donated it?”
“No.”
The word sat between us.
Natalie understood.
“Oh.”
“I did not know it had been kept.”
“Did you know about me?”
“No.”
“Until today?”
“Until about an hour ago.”
She laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
“That’s insane.”
“Yes.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t have to keep apologizing.”
“Neither do you.”
That stopped me.
Natalie continued.
“If what you’re saying is true, somebody did this to both families.”
“Yes.”
Her response was different from Ethan’s.
Older.
Already processed through years of donor-conception questions.
“What do you know about my biological father?”
I looked at Jake.
He heard.
His face tightened.
“We have strong evidence.”
“Who?”
“My biological father.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
I explained carefully.
Thomas.
My parentage.
The fertility treatment.
My mother’s decision.
Vale.
I did not give every detail.
Enough.
Natalie remained quiet.
“So your father is also…”
“My biological father, yes.”
“And Jake?”
“My son.”
“Same biological father?”
“Yes.”
Natalie exhaled.
“So Jake is my full biological brother.”
“If the records are correct.”
“Have you tested?”
“Not yet.”
“I have.”
That surprised me.
“What?”
“I uploaded my raw DNA to several databases.”
Jake moved closer.
“Can she compare with mine?”
He already had consumer DNA data from earlier screening.
I asked Natalie.
She laughed nervously.
“Yes.”
Ten minutes later, they exchanged the necessary information through the testing platform.
The site warned that matching could take time.
Natalie said, “I don’t care if it takes a week.”
It took seven minutes.
Jake’s phone chimed.
He opened the result.
Then stopped breathing.
“What?”
He turned the screen toward me.
Predicted relationship:
Full sibling.
Natalie made a sound through the phone.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
Jake sat down.
“Hi, sister.”
Natalie cried.
Jake did too.
I watched my thirty-one-year-old son discover a twenty-six-year-old sister in real time.
No clinic.
No doctor.
No parent controlling the moment.
Just two adults looking at the same evidence and choosing what to do with it.
Natalie finally asked, “Can I see you?”
Jake looked at me.
I answered for myself only.
“Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
I smiled despite everything.
“You don’t waste time.”
“I’ve already wasted five years looking.”
That was fair.
We arranged to meet at a park near her town.
Public.
Quiet.
Her mother would come.
Before hanging up, Natalie said, “Susan?”
“Yes?”
“I don’t know what to call you.”
My chest tightened.
“Susan is fine.”
“Okay.”
A pause.
“And I have a mom.”
“I know.”
“I love her.”
“I’m glad.”
Another pause.
“Thank you.”
When the call ended, Jake remained staring at the sibling match.
Michael stood behind him.
“Full sister.”
Jake nodded.
“Yeah.”
He looked up at me.
“Maya too.”
“Yes.”
“And Ethan maybe half.”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“My family tree looks like somebody dropped it down the stairs.”
Michael laughed before he could stop himself.
So did I.
The laughter felt wrong.
Then necessary.
Later, after Jake went home, Michael and I sat in the kitchen.
Neither of us mentioned our marriage.
There were too many other things.
Then my phone rang.
Thomas.
“I heard.”
“From Emily?”
“Yes.”
“Natalie is Jake’s full sibling.”
“I know.”
His voice broke slightly.
“That means she’s my daughter.”
“Yes.”
“Does she know who I am?”
“Yes.”
“Does she want to meet me?”
“I didn’t ask.”
Silence.
“Good.”
I was surprised.
Thomas continued.
“That should be hers.”
He had learned something too.
Then he said, “Susan, if Natalie is E7-B, Daniel’s records have finally accounted for both missing embryos.”
“Maya and Natalie.”
“Yes.”
“Then why does this not feel finished?”
Thomas was quiet.
“Because Leonard’s actions weren’t limited to your embryos.”
I stared into the dark kitchen.
“I know.”
“There’s something I haven’t told you.”
My exhaustion hardened instantly.
“What now?”
“About the original seven eggs.”
I closed my eyes.
“Thomas.”
“Patricia’s count was wrong.”
My pulse changed.
“What?”
“She recorded seven because that was the number Leonard reported.”
“How many were actually retrieved?”
Thomas inhaled.
“Nine.”
Click here to continue reading: PART 22: The Number Was Never Seven, and Two Unrecorded Eggs Led Back to the Procedure Leonard Vale Most Wanted Everyone to Forget
For Eighteen Years My Husband Slept Ten Feet Away, Until One Ordinary Appointment Made Our Silence Feel Suddenly Dangerous
Part 21 of 35
