Chapter 14 - THE REPORT SLOANE KEPT
One year after the canceled wedding, Sloane asked me to come to her house.
The triplet boys were nearly four.
My three were three.
Jane almost four.
Seven children now moved between homes with a complicated schedule that somehow worked.
Mostly.
Sloane handed me a sealed envelope.
I laughed.
“I’m developing a bad relationship with envelopes.”
“This one is different.”
“What?”
“The first DNA report.”
My stomach tightened.
The forged one?
“Yes.”
The report Gordon created using his own sample under Preston’s name.
“Why keep it?”
“I stole the original from his office.”
I stared.
“When?”
“After you came to the wedding.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t trust him.”
“You participated in his scheme for years.”
“I know.”
“Then suddenly you discovered caution?”
She smiled sadly.
“Late.”
Fair.
I opened the envelope.
Chain of custody.
Gordon’s sample.
Preston’s identifier.
Fraud.
Already known.
Then I noticed handwriting on the back.
Lenora’s.
MAKE SURE PRESTON NEVER SEES THE ORIGINAL.
I looked at Sloane.
“Lenora was more involved.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
Sloane took a breath.
“She was the one who suggested using your embryos.”
That hurt in a new place.
Gordon wanted grandsons.
Lenora identified the inventory.
Three healthy male embryos.
She had sat beside me during IVF.
Knew exactly how many existed.
I felt physically sick.
“Why tell me now?”
“Because Lenora asked me to destroy this last week.”
“Why?”
“She’s trying to reconcile with Preston.”
Of course.
Truth becomes inconvenient when relationships become possible.
I called Lenora myself.
“Did you suggest using my embryos?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
No decoration.
I appreciated that much.
“Why?”
“I was afraid Preston would never have children.”
“You mean sons.”
“Yes.”
“Did you think of me?”
She cried.
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I told myself you would start over.”
I laughed.
“With what? You gave my embryos away.”
“I know.”
That sentence no longer satisfied me.
“What do you want from me?”
“Nothing.”
Unexpected.
“I want Preston to know the whole truth.”
“Then tell him.”
“I’m afraid he’ll never speak to me again.”
There it was.
Consequences.
I said:
“That cannot be the reason you keep lying.”
Then I hung up.
Lenora told Preston the next day.
He did not speak to her for six months.
I stayed out of it.
Their relationship was theirs.
Then something shifted between Preston and me.
Not because his mother confessed.
Because he stopped bringing every family wound to me for repair.
He got a therapist.
A real one.
Not family counsel.
He learned to sit with guilt without asking me to reduce it.
Our dinners became weekly.
Then sometimes twice.
One night, after all seven children had attended a chaotic birthday party together, Preston helped clean my kitchen.
He said:
“Do you ever think about us?”
I froze.
“Yes.”
His hands stopped.
“Good us or bad us?”
“Both.”
He nodded.
Then:
“Do you think there’s a version where we try again?”
There it was.
I expected fear.
Instead I felt calm.
“Maybe.”
His eyes filled.
I continued:
“But not our old marriage.”
“No.”
“Not the Ashford estate.”
“No.”
“Not me becoming part of your family system again.”
“No.”
“Separate financial counsel.”
“Yes.”
“Prenup.”
“Yes.”
“Therapy continues.”
“Yes.”
“And if you ever let your father, mother, board, assistant, lawyer, driver, gardener, or God Himself decide our marriage for us again—”
He almost laughed.
“I lose you.”
“Yes.”
He became serious.
“I already know what that feels like.”
Then he did not kiss me.
Good.
He asked:
“Can I?”
Better.
I said yes.
The kiss was gentle.
Familiar.
Different.
Then Alexander walked in.
“Why are you kissing Daddy?”
We jumped apart like teenagers.
Preston looked at me.
I looked at him.
Alexander frowned.
“Are you getting married?”
“No,” we said simultaneously.
He shrugged.
“Okay.”
May you like
Then opened the refrigerator.
Children have excellent perspective.
