Chapter 11: The Child They Tried to Plant
For several seconds, I could not process the words.
One of the babies was not biologically mine.
The sentence was impossible.
I had felt all three of them move inside me.
I had carried them through nausea, pain, sleepless nights, and fear.
My body had protected them.
My blood had fed them.
My heart had nearly stopped bringing them into the world.
Biology suddenly felt like a weapon being aimed at motherhood.
“No,” I said.
Mercer’s voice remained careful.
“This is an allegation. Not a confirmed fact.”
“Vanessa is lying.”
“She provided specific clinic records.”
Silas looked at the photograph from the fertility clinic.
“Which clinic?”
“Lakeshore Reproductive Medicine.”
Grant stood abruptly.
“That was our clinic.”
I looked at him.
“You chose it.”
“It had the best success rates.”
“Vanessa worked with the executive healthcare division. Did she recommend it?”
His silence answered.
I felt sick.
“Call the doctor,” I said.
Silas picked up his phone.
Mercer continued.
“Vanessa claims Eleanor paid an embryologist to switch one embryo before transfer.”
“One embryo?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Which baby?”
“She doesn’t know.”
I looked toward the wall separating me from the NICU.
Amelia.
Arthur.
Grace.
A mother did not look at her children and calculate which one shared her DNA.
But someone wanted me to.
That may have been the true cruelty of the plan.
Grant paced near the window.
“Why would Eleanor use Vanessa’s embryo?”
Mercer answered.
“Vanessa claims Eleanor wanted a biological descendant of Thomas Vale inside the Whitmore line.”
Silas frowned.
“Vanessa is not related to Thomas.”
“No. But Grant is.”
The room went still.
I understood.
Vanessa’s egg.
Grant’s sperm.
Their biological child.
Placed inside my body without my knowledge.
Eleanor had tried to create a child who connected Grant’s bloodline to the Whitmore trust through my pregnancy and legal marriage.
A child Vanessa and Grant could later claim.
I looked at Grant.
“Did you know?”
“No.”
“Do not lie.”
“I didn’t know.”
“You were having an affair with her.”
“Not when the embryos were created.”
“The photograph is ten months old.”
“Our affair began eight months ago.”
“You expect me to believe that distinction matters?”
His face twisted.
“I did not consent to this.”
“Neither did I.”
For the first time, Grant looked horrified not only by what had happened to me, but by what had happened to him.
His genetic material may have been used without his understanding to place Vanessa’s child inside my womb.
But he still had chosen the clinic.
Chosen Vanessa’s access.
Chosen secrecy.
Every door had been opened by his arrogance.
Silas called the clinic.
No answer.
He called an emergency number.
Disconnected.
Mercer said federal agents were already securing the facility.
I pushed the blanket away.
“I want DNA testing.”
Dr. Park, who had returned during the call, stepped forward.
“Not immediately.”
“Why?”
“The babies are medically fragile.”
“A cheek swab will not hurt them.”
“No. But you are reacting under extreme emotional stress.”
“I need to know.”
“Why?”
The question angered me.
“Because one of them may not be mine.”
Dr. Park looked directly at me.
“They are all yours.”
I stopped.
“You carried them. You gave birth to them. You are their legal mother. Whatever a DNA result says, no one can erase that.”
Vanessa would try.
Eleanor would try.
Grant’s attorneys might try.
The trust could complicate everything.
I looked toward Silas.
“If one child is biologically Vanessa’s, can she claim custody?”
He did not answer quickly enough.
“Silas.”
“She could attempt it.”
My heart pounded.
“She kidnapped Grace.”
“She is also accused of participating in the medication scheme. Her position is extremely weak.”
“But she can try.”
“Yes.”
Grant’s voice became cold.
“She will not get near any of them.”
I looked at him.
“You do not get to decide that.”
“I am their father.”
“You treated fatherhood like a voting proxy.”
His face tightened.
“Whatever I did to you, I will not let Vanessa take one of those children.”
“Whatever you did to me?”
I pushed myself upright.
“You forged my signature. You divorced me while I was unconscious. You discussed my death as a legal advantage. You filed for custody to control their inheritance.”
“I know.”
“No. You are still shrinking it into mistakes.”
“I said I know.”
His voice broke.
It startled all of us.
Grant Holloway did not break.
He raised his voice.
He punished.
He controlled.
But he did not crack.
Now he looked toward the NICU and whispered, “I know what I did.”
For one moment, I saw the possibility of remorse.
Then Detective Mercer’s voice interrupted.
“We have another issue.”
“What now?” Silas asked.
“Eleanor Voss accessed the fertility clinic’s database thirty minutes ago.”
“From where?”
“A secure server in downtown Chicago.”
“She is back in the city.”
“Yes.”
“What did she access?”
“Embryology records and paternity files.”
My skin turned cold.
“She is trying to identify the child,” I said.
Mercer agreed.
“And if she knows which baby is Vanessa’s biological child, she may target that baby next.”
Security around the NICU doubled.
No visitors.
No outside staff.
Every nurse’s badge reverified.
Grant remained under police observation.
He surrendered both phones after Mercer obtained a warrant.
Hours passed.
The fertility clinic director was located at a private residence.
He denied knowing anything.
The embryologist named in Vanessa’s statement had vanished six months earlier.
At 4:15 a.m., Silas returned with preliminary clinic records.
He looked disturbed.
“There were three embryos transferred,” he said.
“I know.”
“Your records list two embryos created from your eggs and Grant’s sperm.”
“And the third?”
“Donor embryo.”
My stomach tightened.
“I never agreed to a donor embryo.”
“The consent form has your signature.”
“Forged?”
“Likely.”
Grant stared at the document.
“Whose donor embryo?”
“The record is sealed under a code.”
“Can it be traced?”
“The federal team is working on it.”
I looked toward the babies.
“Do we know whether all three embryos implanted?”
“No.”
One of the children could be mine.
Two could be mine.
All three could be mine.
Or the substituted embryo may not have survived.
The uncertainty was its own torture.
At sunrise, I requested DNA tests.
This time, Dr. Park agreed.
Samples were taken from me, Grant, and all three babies.
Vanessa’s sample was obtained by court order.
Expedited results would take several hours.
I sat beside the NICU windows while morning light spread over the city.
Grant stood several feet away.
Neither of us spoke.
Finally, he said, “I remember the day of the transfer.”
I kept my eyes on Amelia’s incubator.
“You held my hand,” I said.
“Yes.”
“You told me it was the beginning of our real family.”
His face tightened.
“I believed it.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Or did you believe children would make your image complete?”
He had no answer.
I looked at him.
“What did Vanessa wear that day?”
He frowned.
“What?”
“She was at the clinic, wasn’t she?”
He remembered.
A dark green coat.
A clipboard.
She had met us in the lobby, claiming she was there to resolve an insurance approval issue.
She had hugged me.
Told me I was going to be a wonderful mother.
Grant’s face turned gray.
“She planned it before the affair.”
“Or the affair began before you admit.”
“It didn’t.”
“Then Eleanor trained her to become whatever you wanted.”
He looked away.
That possibility humiliated him more than betrayal.
Grant had believed he had seduced Vanessa.
Perhaps Eleanor had selected him.
Mapped his weaknesses.
Placed a willing woman in his path.
Made him believe manipulation was desire.
The test results arrived shortly after noon.
Silas entered with Dr. Park and Detective Mercer.
No one sat.
I gripped the edge of the bed.
“Tell me.”
Dr. Park held the report.
“Amelia is biologically yours and Grant’s.”
I breathed.
“Arthur is also biologically yours and Grant’s.”
Two children.
My eyes moved toward Grace.
Dr. Park continued.
“Grace is not genetically related to you.”
The room blurred.
I heard Grant inhale sharply.
“And Vanessa?” I asked.
“Grace is not biologically related to Vanessa either.”
Everyone froze.
Mercer stepped forward.
“Whose child is she?”
Dr. Park looked toward Silas.
“The clinic located a partial genetic match through an archived legal sample.”
Silas’s face was pale.
“Grace’s biological mother was Claire’s mother.”
I stared at him.
“My mother died twenty-five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“How is that possible?”
Silas placed a document on the table.
Before my mother’s final fertility treatment, several embryos had been created and cryogenically preserved.
After my parents died, my grandfather kept them stored under a sealed medical trust.
Grace was not Vanessa’s child.
May you like
She was my biological sister.
And someone had implanted her into my body without my consent.
