Chapter 4 - The RecordingBrandon had been building a case against me. He forgot I could build one against him.That night, after the twins were asleep, I searched the house.
Not because I wanted revenge.
Because I wanted the truth.
I checked drawers.
Closets.
His desk.
The garage.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
Three weeks earlier, Brandon had given me a new baby monitor.
He said the old one had terrible sound quality.
I picked it up.
Turned it over.
There was a tiny slot underneath.
My heart began pounding.
I removed the card.
My fingers shook.
There were recordings.
Not just of the babies.
Of everything.
Our arguments.
My conversations.
Phone calls.
Even the night I had cried in the kitchen.
I plugged the card into my computer.
The first recording opened.
Brandon's voice.
Clear.
“She's getting worse.”
A man's voice answered.
“Then document everything.”
I froze.
Who was he talking to?
The next file.
“She barely sleeps.”
“She doesn't need sleep. She needs to look unstable.”
My blood turned cold.
I pressed the next recording.
Brandon again.
“If I can show she can't manage the twins alone, I can get primary custody.”
The other man laughed.
“And what about the money?”
“I'll handle the money once I have the girls.”
I stopped the recording.
My entire body was shaking.
This wasn't an ugly marriage anymore.
It was a plan.
A calculated plan.
And the man helping Brandon sounded familiar.
I listened again.
Then again.
Finally, I recognized him.
Marcus Reed.
Brandon's business partner.
A man I had met twice.
A man who had once congratulated us on the twins.
I called Claire immediately.
“Don't delete anything,” she said.
“I won't.”
“Make a backup.”
“I already did.”
“Excellent.”
I heard her typing.
Then she said,
“You need to leave the house.”
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because if Brandon discovers you found that recording, he could destroy evidence.”
I looked toward the hallway.
The twins were sleeping upstairs.
“I’m not leaving my home with my children.”
“You may not have to.”
There was a pause.
“What do you mean?”
“Do you have somewhere safe to stay?”
I hesitated.
“My sister's.”
“Take the girls there tomorrow.”
“What about tonight?”
“Stay alert.”
I sat in silence.
Then my computer pinged.
A new file appeared.
It wasn't from the original recording folder.
It had been created that morning.
I opened it.
There was one sentence in a text document.
HE DOESN'T KNOW WHO THE GIRLS' BIOLOGICAL FATHER IS.
My breath stopped.
I stared at the words.
Then I laughed.
One broken, frightened laugh.
The twins had been conceived through IVF.
Brandon was their father.
At least, that was what I believed.
My hands became numb.
I called Claire again.
“Tell me the truth.”
“What?”
“Were the embryos genetically tested before implantation?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
She was silent.
“Claire.”
“I've only reviewed the medical records you gave me.”
“What do they say?”
“There's a discrepancy.”
“What discrepancy?”
She spoke slowly.
“The original genetic report lists two embryo IDs.”
I swallowed.
“And?”
“Neither ID matches the donor information Brandon gave the clinic.”
My entire body went cold.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying someone changed the paperwork.”
I stared at the hallway.
At the two tiny rooms where my daughters slept.
“Who?”
“I don't know yet.”
Then Claire said something that made my heart stop completely.
“But I have an idea.”
“What?”
“The person who requested the amended records.”
My mouth went dry.
“Who requested them?”
May you like
Claire answered.
“Evelyn.”
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