Chapter 4 - THE BABIES WHO WERE NEVER HIS
I stared at the report for nearly an hour.
Then I called Alexander.
It was the first time in seven weeks.
He answered immediately.
“Claire?”
His voice changed on my name.
I hated that.
“Did you order a paternity test?”
Silence.
Then:
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After you left.”
“And?”
Another silence.
“They aren’t mine.”
I closed my eyes.
“You knew.”
“For eleven days.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know if you wanted contact.”
“You could have sent one sentence through my attorney.”
“You’re right.”
That surprised me.
No excuses.
No justification.
I gripped the report.
“Who is the father?”
“We don’t know.”
“Sophia?”
“She says she doesn’t know.”
I laughed bitterly.
“Convenient.”
Alexander continued.
“The original fertility samples were compromised.”
“What does that mean?”
“The clinic used frozen donor material.”
“Whose?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
I went still.
“So you believed the twins were yours because of the IVF agreement.”
“Yes.”
“And because you slept with Sophia.”
“Yes.”
“But the dates never matched.”
“I didn’t realize.”
“How does a man who tracks shipping containers across three continents fail basic calendar math?”
His voice dropped.
“Because I was ashamed.”
That answer hit differently.
“I assumed the worst version of myself was probably true.”
I said nothing.
He continued.
“I betrayed you. Whether those children are biologically mine does not erase that.”
“No.”
“I know.”
For once, he did.
Then I asked:
“Who sent me the test?”
Alexander went quiet.
“I didn’t.”
“Someone did.”
“Claire, send me everything.”
“No.”
“Not to me. To a forensic lab of your choice.”
That was reasonable.
I hated reasonable Alexander.
The laboratory confirmed the report was authentic.
The sample had been taken from one twin after birth.
Someone had accessed hospital records.
Someone wanted me to know.
The next envelope arrived three days later.
No photographs.
Just a handwritten note.
Ask Sophia why she signed another contract.
I called Sophia.
She answered cautiously.
“Claire?”
“What other contract?”
Silence.
Then:
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t.”
She began crying.
That told me enough.
“What did you sign?”
“A confidentiality agreement.”
“With who?”
“I can’t say.”
“Then I’ll hang up.”
“Wait.”
She breathed hard.
“It was with Elena.”
Alexander’s mother.
My stomach dropped.
“What did Elena want?”
Sophia whispered:
“An heir.”
“Alexander’s?”
“No.”
I froze.
“What?”
Sophia continued:
“She only needed everyone to believe the children were Alexander’s.”
My skin turned cold.
“Why?”
“Because the twins’ real father had to remain hidden.”
“Who?”
Sophia began sobbing.
Then said:
“Alexander’s brother.”
I stared.
Alexander had only one brother.
May you like
Dante Moretti.
And Dante had been dead for four years.
