Chapter 6 - THE SEVEN CHILDREN
Seven.
That number followed me for days.
Seven children born from reproductive transfers whose documentation was disputed or incomplete.
Not seven kidnappings.
Not seven identical cases.
The legal facts varied.
Some parents signed forms they later contested.
Some clinics mishandled consent.
Some records were incomplete.
But at least three cases appeared deeply wrong.
Mine was one.
Federal investigators reopened the archived Hawthorne files after Tiffany turned over Daniel’s recordings.
I hired my own attorney.
Marissa Greene.
Reproductive-law specialist.
First thing she said:
“Do not let anyone reduce Lily to evidence.”
I liked her immediately.
We established privacy protections.
No press.
No unnecessary testing.
No sharing Lily’s information beyond what a court required.
Mike objected.
Not publicly.
Privately.
He wanted immediate DNA testing.
Marissa asked:
“For what purpose?”
Mike had no answer beyond needing to know.
I finally met him in her office.
He looked exhausted.
“I have a right to know if she’s my daughter.”
I stared.
“She may be biologically related to you.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“Being a biological parent and being her father are different questions.”
He flinched.
“I understand.”
“No. You’re starting to.”
Then I asked:
“When did you learn about the embryo?”
He looked down.
“Two weeks before I left.”
My chest tightened.
“What did Hawthorne tell you?”
“That it had developed late and was still technically viable.”
“And?”
“They wanted storage fees.”
“So you told them not to tell me?”
“I told them you were emotionally done.”
Rage came quietly.
“You made that decision for me.”
“You were falling apart.”
“I was grieving.”
“You could barely get out of bed.”
“Because treatments failed.”
He closed his eyes.
“I thought another embryo would keep us trapped.”
Us.
There it was.
He wanted out.
The embryo complicated his exit.
“So you chose for both of us.”
“Yes.”
“Did you authorize transfer?”
“No.”
“Did you know Claire existed?”
“No.”
“Did Tiffany contact you?”
He paused.
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“One email.”
Tiffany had been right.
“What did it say?”
“That there was a potential consent problem.”
“And?”
“I forwarded it to Daniel.”
“You didn’t forward it to me.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“He told me it was administrative.”
“And that was enough?”
“I wanted it to be.”
Again.
Honesty after destruction.
Mike whispered:
“I didn’t know there was a baby.”
I believed him.
That did not make him innocent.
Then Marissa received preliminary DNA review from preserved embryology samples.
No test on Lily yet.
The embryo transferred to Claire had matched my stored genetic profile and Mike’s.
Very high confidence.
Legally, more confirmation would eventually be needed.
But biologically?
Lily was almost certainly ours.
Mike cried.
I did too.
For different reasons.
Then Marissa said:
“There’s another issue.”
Claire’s surrogacy contract had named intended parents.
Not Jessica Bennett.
Not Mike Carter.
A married couple from Connecticut.
Evan and Laura Whitmore.
My blood went cold.
“Who are they?”
Tiffany knew.
May you like
“They paid my father three hundred thousand dollars.”
Someone had sold my embryo twice.
