For several seconds after Dana spoke, I heard nothing except the faint hum of Rachel's refrigerator from the other room.
The embryos were mine.
They were not genetically Carter's.
Yet the geneticist had confirmed paternal DNA from the Sterling family.
I pressed my shoulder against the bedroom wall because standing suddenly required effort.
“Read the report again.”
“Lauren.”
“Read the conclusion.”
Dana exhaled quietly.
“The tested embryo samples are consistent with you as the genetic mother. They are inconsistent with Carter Sterling as the genetic father.”
I closed my eyes.
“And Richard?”
“Related.”
“That isn't specific enough.”
“The report identifies a close paternal-line relationship between Richard and the embryo DNA.”
“How close?”
“It doesn't provide the full probability table in the archive copy.”
“Then what does it provide?”
“A handwritten notation.”
My eyes opened.
“From Dr. Vale?”
“Apparently.”
“What does it say?”
Dana paused.
“Paternal source likely first-degree relative of R.H.S.”
R.H.S.
Richard Henry Sterling.
A first-degree relative.
His father.
His child.
His sibling.
Richard's father had been dead for years before our IVF treatment.
His known sibling relationships were limited.
His son was Carter.
And Carter had just been excluded.
I whispered, “Richard has another son.”
“We cannot conclude that yet.”
“He has a half brother.”
“Yes.”
“Could that man count?”
“Not as Richard's first-degree relative. A half sibling would ordinarily be second-degree.”
I sat on the bed.
“So the paternal source would most likely be one of Richard's children.”
“Most likely, based on that notation.”
“Carter says he's Richard's only son.”
“Publicly, yes.”
The word publicly lodged in my mind.
Richard's family had already hidden one child in the previous generation.
Maybe secrecy had become hereditary in ways no laboratory could measure.
“Where is the original report?”
“Oakfield says it was removed from the main file.”
“By whom?”
“They don't know yet.”
“Someone always doesn't know.”
“I understand.”
“No, you document. I understand.”
That came out sharper than I intended.
Dana did not react.
“I'm requesting server backups.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“What exactly was tested?”
“Both remaining embryos.”
“Not Chloe or Emma.”
“Correct.”
That distinction mattered.
Chloe and Emma had been conceived before the later testing.
If the frozen embryos had come from the same egg retrieval and sperm sample as the embryos used for my daughters, then logically the same paternal source should apply to all four.
Logically.
But I was learning not to trust assumptions.
“Could the sample have been changed between fertilizations?”
Dana said, “I asked an independent reproductive specialist that question.”
“And?”
“In a standard cycle, the same collected sperm specimen would typically be used for the cohort unless there was a documented reason otherwise.”
“Was there?”
“Not in the records we have.”
“So Chloe and Emma may not be genetically Carter's either.”
“Yes.”
I looked toward the door.
On the other side of the house, the girls were laughing.
My daughters had spent their lives carrying the Sterling name.
Carter had judged them for being female.
Richard had treated them as incomplete branches of his precious family tree.
And neither man might be their biological father or grandfather in the way we had all believed.
The irony would have been satisfying if my children were not inside it.
“Do not tell Carter yet.”
Dana was quiet.
“He knows about the female embryo.”
“He does not know about the paternity result.”
“Correct.”
“Good.”
“You want to confirm first.”
“I want to know who the biological father is before Carter turns this into another family crisis that lands on my daughters.”
“That makes sense.”
“Can we test Chloe and Emma?”
“Yes, with appropriate consent.”
“Would that help?”
“It could establish whether they share the same paternal source.”
“I'll do it.”
“You don't have to decide immediately.”
“I already decided.”
I had spent years allowing other people to decide when I deserved truth.
That period was over.
When I returned to the kitchen, Rachel saw my face and sent the girls upstairs to choose a movie.
Chloe protested.
Rachel bribed her with popcorn.
Five minutes later, we were alone.
“What?”
I sat.
“The embryos weren't Carter's.”
Rachel stared at me.
“What do you mean?”
“The genetic report says I was the mother, but Carter was not the father.”
She blinked slowly.
“Could the clinic have made a mistake?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think they did?”
“I don't know.”
“Who was the father?”
“Someone closely related to Richard.”
Rachel lowered herself into the chair across from me.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Carter has a brother?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Half brother?”
“Maybe.”
“Lauren, could Richard—”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Rachel stopped.
I realized I had rejected the possibility because I could not bear it, not because evidence ruled it out.
Dr. Vale's note said a first-degree relative.
Richard himself could not be his own relative.
So no.
Not Richard.
But one of his children.
“Not Richard,” I said more carefully. “The report suggests one of his first-degree relatives.”
“Which includes Carter.”
“But excludes him.”
“Then another child.”
“Yes.”
Rachel leaned back.
“Does Carter know?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
“Not yet.”
“Good.”
I looked at her.
She raised her hands.
“I'm not saying hide it forever. I'm saying Carter has demonstrated that information and judgment are not close friends.”
Despite everything, I laughed.
It was brief.
Necessary.
Then Rachel's expression softened.
“What about Chloe and Emma?”
“We'll test them.”
Her face changed.
“Oh, Lauren.”
“I need to know.”
“I know.”
“What scares me isn't finding out Carter isn't their biological father.”
“What scares you?”
“That someone deliberately used another man's sperm.”
The possibility had been sitting beneath everything since Dana's call.
A laboratory mistake would be awful.
A deliberate substitution would be something else entirely.
“Richard tested the embryos years later,” I said. “That means he suspected something.”
“Maybe he already knew.”
“Maybe.”
“And if he knew, why preserve them?”
That was the question.
If Richard believed the embryos had been created through an error, why secretly pay for their storage?
Why test them?
Why transfer the female embryo?
Why allow Carter and Jessica to use the male one?
Unless the biological father mattered to him more than Carter did.
My phone buzzed.
A message from Carter.
Found Marianne's settlement agreement.
I showed Rachel.
“Call him,” she said.
I did.
Carter answered instantly.
“I have it.”
“What does it say?”
“Mostly confidentiality clauses.”
“About the embryo?”
“No. It doesn't mention embryos.”
“Then why was she paid?”
“It says resolution of employment-related claims.”
“What claims?”
“Not specified.”
“Convenient.”
“There is an attachment.”
My pulse quickened.
“What attachment?”
“A schedule of obligations.”
“Read it.”
He shuffled papers.
“Sterling Family Holdings agrees to provide monthly medical and living expenses for Marianne for five years.”
“That matches what Dana found.”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“Private health insurance.”
“Anything about a child?”
A pause.
“Yes.”
My fingers tightened.
“What?”
“Educational expenses for one dependent minor.”
“Name?”
“Blank.”
“Blank?”
“The field is blank.”
“Who signed?”
“Dad.”
“Marianne?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
Another pause.
“Dr. Vale.”
I stood.
“The geneticist?”
“Yes.”
“What was he doing on an employment settlement?”
“I don't know.”
“Is he listed as witness?”
“No.”
“What then?”
“Medical consultant.”
My stomach tightened.
“What medical matter?”
“Not specified.”
“Carter, photograph every page.”
“I already did.”
“Send them to Dana.”
“You gave me her number?”
“I'll send it.”
“Lauren.”
“What?”
“Why does Vale matter?”
I hesitated.
Too long.
Carter noticed.
“What do you know?”
“Not enough.”
“Don't do that.”
I almost laughed.
“You have no standing to complain about withheld information.”
“I know.”
“Then don't.”
He lowered his voice.
“Is this about the embryo tests?”
“Yes.”
“What did they show?”
I could have lied.
Instead I said, “I'm confirming them.”
“Confirming what?”
“I'll tell you when I know.”
“Lauren.”
“No.”
He exhaled sharply.
“Fine.”
I heard something in the background.
A door.
Then Carter said, “Wait.”
“What?”
“There are handwritten notes in the agreement file.”
“Whose handwriting?”
“My father's, I think.”
“What do they say?”
He went quiet.
“Carter.”
“One line says M.E. understands lineage status.”
My skin prickled.
“Read the rest.”
“Another says child not for public recognition.”
Rachel's eyes widened when I repeated it aloud.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Carter's voice changed.
“Payment contingent on confidentiality regarding donor source.”
Donor source.
Not father.
Donor.
“Send it now.”
My phone buzzed moments later.
Photographs arrived one by one.
The pages were old scans, some slightly crooked.
I enlarged the handwritten notes.
R.H.S.
Richard's initials appeared beside several entries.
One phrase had been underlined twice.
DONOR SOURCE TO REMAIN SEALED.
My stomach turned.
This was no accidental laboratory mix-up.
Somebody had known there was a donor.
Perhaps Richard.
Perhaps Dr. Vale.
Perhaps Marianne.
But I had never consented to donor sperm.
Carter called again.
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“Donor source.”
“Yes.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You tell me.”
“I didn't agree to donor sperm.”
“Neither did I.”
Silence.
Then Carter said, “Could this have happened during our IVF?”
“That is what we're trying to establish.”
“Why would anyone do that?”
“I don't know.”
“Could your doctor have decided my sample wasn't good enough?”
“He couldn't legally substitute another man's sperm without consent.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop searching for an innocent explanation.”
Carter became quiet.
“Who knew?”
“Richard knew enough to test the embryos years later.”
“You think my father knew the whole time?”
“I think he knew more than either of us.”
Carter swore.
“He encouraged us to use Oakfield.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“You remember.”
“No.”
“Yes. When we started looking at clinics, Dad recommended Oakfield.”
I searched my memory.
Carter had handled many of the appointments in the beginning because I was working long hours.
I remembered Richard saying Oakfield had “excellent people.”
At the time, it had seemed like ordinary advice from a wealthy man accustomed to recommending specialists.
“Why Oakfield?”
“He said a business associate had used them.”
“Who?”
“I don't remember.”
“Find out.”
“I will.”
“And find everything Richard has with Vale's name.”
“Okay.”
The call ended.
Dana contacted me half an hour later.
She had received Carter's photographs.
“The donor notation matters,” she said.
“No kidding.”
“It may explain the kinship testing.”
“How?”
“If Richard knew donor sperm had been used, he may have wanted to confirm the donor was genetically connected to his family.”
I felt cold.
“So someone deliberately used sperm from another Sterling.”
“That is one possibility.”
“Why?”
“We need more.”
I hated that phrase.
More evidence.
More documents.
More pieces of a life I thought belonged to me.
“What about Dr. Vale?”
Dana said, “He retired six years ago.”
“Alive?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“Arizona.”
“Can we contact him?”
“We can.”
“Do it.”
“We already have.”
“And?”
“He refused to discuss Oakfield patients without legal authorization.”
“Then get it.”
“We're working on that.”
I paced.
“Can you find Richard's other children?”
“Publicly, Carter is his only acknowledged child.”
“Acknowledged.”
“Yes.”
“You noticed that too.”
“I did.”
“Search deeper.”
“We are.”
That afternoon, a mobile nurse came to Rachel's house to collect cheek-swab samples from me, Chloe, and Emma.
I did not explain genetics to the girls.
I told them the test would help clarify old medical records.
Chloe watched me too carefully.
“Does this have to do with Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Is he sick?”
“No.”
“Are we?”
“No.”
She relaxed slightly.
Emma thought the swab tickled.
Afterward, they went upstairs.
The nurse sealed the samples.
Watching her place Chloe's and Emma's names on separate labels affected me more than I expected.
Two children.
Two lives.
Whatever the laboratory said, nothing would alter who they were to me.
I signed the chain-of-custody form.
At 4:32, Dana sent me a message.
We found a second Richard Sterling child reference.
My heart jumped.
I called.
“What reference?”
“An old civil filing from twenty-eight years ago.”
“Child support?”
“Sealed paternity proceeding.”
I sat slowly.
“Sealed?”
“Mostly.”
“Who filed?”
“A woman named Evelyn Mercer.”
“Against Richard?”
“Yes.”
“Outcome?”
“Confidential settlement.”
“Child?”
“Male.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Name?”
“The child's name was later changed.”
“To what?”
“We're tracing it.”
“How old would he be?”
“Approximately thirty-four.”
Younger than Carter.
Old enough to have been a sperm donor during our IVF treatment.
“Did Carter know?”
“Unknown.”
“Did Richard acknowledge him?”
“Not publicly.”
“Where is Evelyn?”
“Deceased.”
“And the son?”
“We're looking.”
I stared at nothing.
Richard's hidden son.
Possibly the biological father of four embryos created with my eggs.
Possibly Chloe's father.
Emma's father.
Grace's father.
The unborn boy's father.
“Dana.”
“Yes?”
“Find him before Richard knows we've found the filing.”
There was a pause.
“We may already be too late.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone requested access to the same archived case this morning.”
My skin prickled.
“Who?”
“The request came through a law firm.”
“Richard's?”
“We're checking.”
I looked at the photographs of the handwritten settlement notes.
Donor source to remain sealed.
Richard had built secrecy around a man whose DNA might now connect four children across two states.
And if someone else was already opening that old court file, we were not the only ones searching for him.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Hidden Son Richard Never Acknowledged Had Worked Near Oakfield, and His Name Appeared on a Record Nobody Was Supposed to See
Five Minutes After the Judge Ended Our Marriage, Carter Told Me Exactly What Our Daughters Were Worth to Him
Part 9 of 35
