Chapter 3 - THE CHILD WHO SHOULDN'T EXIST
Daniel ran before Luka could stop him.
Luka followed him into the hallway.
I tried to get out of bed.
Pain tore through my abdomen.
I nearly collapsed.
“Claire!”
My actual nurse, Hannah, caught me.
“Please stay in bed.”
“My husband—”
“Security is handling it.”
“No, they aren't.”
I grabbed her arm.
“Hannah, what is M-17?”
Her expression changed.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You know.”
“I don't.”
“You do.”
She looked toward the door.
Then she lowered her voice.
“I've only seen that code once.”
“When?”
“This morning.”
My heart pounded.
“On Emma's chart?”
Hannah nodded.
“It disappeared twenty minutes later.”
“What did it say?”
“I couldn't open it.”
“Hannah.”
“I swear.”
She squeezed my hand.
“But the file wasn't under Emma's name.”
My mouth went dry.
“Whose name was it under?”
“Yours.”
Luka returned.
“Daniel's gone.”
Then he saw Hannah.
“What did you tell her?”
“The truth.”
“Which part?”
Hannah hesitated.
“That M-17 was attached to Claire's chart.”
Luka cursed quietly.
I pulled the flash drive from beneath my blanket.
“Then we open this.”
Luka locked the door again.
He took a laptop from a bag he had left beside the chair.
“You brought a computer to a maternity ward?”
“I came prepared.”
“For what?”
“For today.”
He connected the drive.
There were four folders.
BENNETT.
MORETTI.
M-17.
And one labeled EMMA.
My stomach twisted.
“Open M-17.”
Luka clicked.
Password protected.
He tried several combinations.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something.
“My father used to call me Sparrow.”
Luka looked at me.
“What?”
“When I was little.”
I typed SPARROW.
ACCESS DENIED.
I tried my birthday.
Denied.
Then Luka quietly said, “Try mine.”
“Why would my father use your birthday?”
“Try it.”
He gave me the date.
I entered it.
The folder opened.
Neither of us spoke.
There were hundreds of pages.
Clinical trials.
Genetic profiles.
Photographs.
Consent forms.
My father's signature appeared everywhere.
Then we found a video.
Dated three days before his death.
I pressed play.
My father appeared on the screen.
Older.
Exhausted.
Terrified.
“If Claire is watching this, then I failed.”
My breath stopped.
“Dad?”
His recorded face stared through eighteen years of silence.
“Project M-17 was never supposed to become what they made it.”
Luka leaned toward the screen.
My father continued.
“The Moretti child survived.”
Luka closed his eyes.
“But survival came at a cost.”
A document appeared.
GENETIC COMPATIBILITY PROGRAM.
My father looked directly into the camera.
“They discovered that the treatment could alter inherited markers in future generations.”
I stared at Luka.
“What does that mean?”
His face had gone pale.
The video continued.
“If anyone attempts to reproduce this work, they will need a direct descendant of the original M-17 subject.”
Luka whispered, “Me.”
Then another file opened automatically.
A photograph appeared.
It showed me unconscious on an operating table.
The date was eight months before I became pregnant.
I screamed.
“What the hell is that?”
Luka stared at the screen.
I had undergone what Daniel told me was a routine procedure after a miscarriage.
But beside my body stood Daniel.
And beside Daniel stood a doctor holding a vial.
The label was clearly visible.
DONOR: MORETTI, L.
I turned slowly toward Luka.
Neither of us spoke.
Because suddenly the impossible question was hanging between us.
May you like
If Luka Moretti was the donor...
Who was Emma's biological father?
