Chapter 3 - The Woman in the PhotographThe next morning, I arrived at my mother's house before eight.
I hadn't slept.
I had spent the entire night building a timeline.
Three weeks before Easter, Daniel signed as a witness.
Six months before that, my firm began reviewing EverBloom.
And somewhere inside that chain, my name had been attached to a projected payout of $186,000.
That meant one thing.
The plan existed before I knew about it.
I knocked once.
Mom opened the door.
She looked exhausted.
“Come in.”
I stepped inside.
The house smelled like coffee and cinnamon.
Normal.
Almost offensively normal.
Dad was in the kitchen reading the newspaper.
Vanessa sat on the couch.
Grant wasn't there.
I stopped.
“Where is he?”
Vanessa looked away.
“Working.”
“Of course.”
Dad folded the newspaper.
“You owe your sister an apology.”
I stared at him.
“No.”
His jaw tightened.
“You humiliated her.”
“She gave me a contract that puts her husband on a financial beneficiary line.”
“You don't understand it.”
“I understand more than you think.”
Mom stepped between us.
“Please.”
I looked at her.
“I want the truth.”
She sighed.
“About what?”
“EverBloom.”
Her expression shifted.
“You said you work with medical investments.”
“I do.”
“And?”
“And EverBloom is under review.”
Vanessa stood.
“That doesn't mean anything.”
“It means your husband lied to me.”
“I didn't lie.”
Grant's voice came from the hallway.
I turned.
He stood there holding a file.
He looked like he hadn't slept either.
He walked into the living room and closed the door behind him.
Vanessa stared at him.
“You came back.”
“I had to.”
Dad shook his head.
“This is ridiculous.”
Grant ignored him.
He looked directly at me.
“There are things I should have told you.”
“Start with why my initials appear on a revenue spreadsheet.”
Vanessa spun toward him.
“What spreadsheet?”
Grant closed his eyes.
“Vanessa…”
She took a step back.
“What did you do?”
“I didn't create the spreadsheet.”
“But you knew.”
Silence.
Vanessa's face changed.
“You knew.”
Grant didn't answer.
She slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room.
Mom gasped.
Dad stood.
Grant didn't react.
I watched him.
Then he placed the file on the table.
“The embryo wasn't created from Vanessa's eggs.”
Everything went quiet.
Vanessa stared at him.
“What?”
Grant looked at her.
“You weren't medically eligible for another retrieval.”
“You told me the doctor said we could try.”
“He did.”
“Then what is this?”
Grant opened the file.
“Donor material.”
Vanessa's lips parted.
“You told me it was mine.”
“I was going to tell you.”
“When?”
He looked at me.
“Before the transfer.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“No.”
She backed away.
“No.”
I looked at the documents.
They showed donor material.
Anonymous.
But there was another page.
A genetic screening report.
My eyes moved over the identifiers.
Then stopped.
Donor code.
I knew that code.
Not because I had seen it before.
Because the format matched the records my firm had been reviewing.
I looked at Grant.
“You said the embryo wasn't hers.”
He nodded.
“What does that have to do with me?”
He didn't answer.
Vanessa whispered, “Grant?”
He finally said it.
“The donor is related to Claire.”
My entire body went cold.
“What?”
Mom covered her mouth.
Dad sat down.
Vanessa stared at me.
“Related how?”
Grant looked sick.
“We don't know yet.”
I picked up the report.
There was a surname attached to the original donor file.
A surname I had not expected.
Bennett.
My family name.
I looked at Mom.
She went pale.
“Mom.”
She shook her head.
“Don't.”
“Who is the donor?”
“I don't know.”
“You do.”
“No.”
“Why is our surname on the report?”
She said nothing.
Dad stood abruptly.
“That's enough.”
“No.”
I held up the paper.
“Not this time.”
Dad's face hardened.
“Claire, there are family matters you aren't entitled to discuss.”
I stared at him.
“Family matters?”
Then I understood.
There had always been missing pieces.
An older child my parents never discussed.
A branch of the family that vanished from photographs.
A cousin whose name was never spoken.
I suddenly remembered something from childhood.
A framed photograph in my grandmother's hallway.
There had been five people in it.
My mother.
My aunt.
My grandmother.
And two girls.
One was Mom.
The other had been younger.
I had once asked who she was.
My mother had said:
“No one important.”
I had believed her.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I looked at Vanessa.
Then at Grant.
“Who is the donor?”
Grant's voice was barely audible.
“We found out last month.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
He looked at me.
“The donor was your mother's biological daughter.”
The room disappeared beneath me.
I gripped the table.
Mom began crying.
Dad whispered, “You weren't supposed to find this out.”
And for the first time in my life, I realized my family wasn't hiding a financial secret from me.
May you like
They were hiding a person.
And somehow, that person was connected to the child Vanessa wanted me to carry.
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