Chapter 2 - RYAN HAD PAID FOR VANESSA'S FERTILITY TREATMENT
Pain medication makes everything feel slightly unreal.
That was probably the only reason I did not scream.
I stared at the bank record.
Ryan’s personal transfer.
Vanessa Sinclair.
Hudson Reproductive Medicine.
$18,600.
Fourteen months ago.
Madison sat beside the bed.
“Do you know anything about this?”
“No.”
“Did Ryan ever mention helping her with fertility treatment?”
“No.”
Mom looked toward the door.
“He is not coming in until we know what this means.”
As if summoned by anger, Ryan appeared outside the glass.
A nurse stopped him.
He looked wrecked.
Good.
I asked to speak with him.
Mom objected.
“I need answers.”
Ryan entered.
His eyes went immediately toward the bassinet beside me.
Lily was sleeping.
He started crying.
“Claire…”
“Don’t.”
He stopped.
I held up the transaction.
“What is this?”
His face changed.
That was enough.
“How long?”
He sat down.
“Vanessa and Daniel were trying to have a baby.”
Daniel.
Vanessa’s late husband.
“Why were you paying?”
“Daniel’s insurance wouldn’t cover treatment.”
“So you paid eighteen thousand dollars?”
“He was my friend.”
I laughed.
“You never mentioned that.”
“Because you hated when Vanessa came up.”
“That became true after you started acting like her emergency husband.”
Ryan looked down.
“The embryo was Daniel’s.”
“Was?”
He hesitated.
I felt my pulse change.
“Ryan.”
“The clinic used Vanessa’s egg and Daniel’s sperm.”
“Then why are you hesitating?”
“Because the transfer happened after Daniel died.”
Silence.
I stared.
“What?”
Ryan explained.
Daniel Sinclair had died in a car accident fifteen months earlier.
Before death, he and Vanessa had frozen embryos.
Afterward Vanessa decided to attempt a transfer.
Ryan paid.
“Why?”
“She was devastated.”
“You keep saying that like grief gives you access to our marriage.”
He flinched.
Then I asked the obvious question.
“Was this C-section for that pregnancy?”
“Yes.”
Vanessa had delivered a baby boy that morning.
That explained some of Ryan’s emotional attachment.
Not all.
“Did you know she was pregnant?”
“Yes.”
“For nine months?”
“Yes.”
“And you hid it from me.”
“I knew how it would look.”
“That sentence should embarrass you.”
He lowered his eyes.
Then Rachel entered.
“Mrs. Bennett—Claire, sorry.”
“What?”
Rachel held a document.
She had retrieved the hospital transfer authorization.
Ryan’s signature.
My family code.
And a statement claiming:
PATIENT CLAIRE WHITMORE VOLUNTARILY RELEASES PRIVATE SUITE AND POSTPARTUM NURSING SERVICES TO IMMEDIATE FAMILY MEMBER VANESSA WHITMORE SINCLAIR.
I looked at Ryan.
“You made her my family on paper?”
“I needed administration to approve it.”
“You forged my consent.”
“I thought you’d understand once—”
“Stop.”
He stopped.
Then Rachel added something.
“The form also identifies Mr. Whitmore as Ms. Sinclair’s emergency medical proxy.”
I looked at him.
“You’re her proxy?”
Ryan looked pale.
“Daniel named me before he died.”
That answer made sense.
Until Rachel turned another page.
“The proxy was updated six months ago.”
After Daniel was already dead.
And this version listed Ryan as having authority not only over Vanessa.
But over her newborn son.
The relationship was deeper than he had admitted.
Then my attorney texted:
We found the fertility contract.
Call when safe.
I called.
The attorney’s first words were:
“Claire, Ryan is telling you only half the truth.”
“The embryo agreement contains a second potential father.”
I stopped breathing.
“Whose name?”
May you like
A pause.
“Ryan Whitmore.”
