Chapter 3 - The Fertility Doctor Who Knew Too MuchMy husband had faced armed rivals, federal investigations, and betrayal inside his criminal organization without showing fear.
But one photograph of my fertility doctor standing beside his mistress made him turn pale.
That frightened me more than anything he'd said all night.
"Damian," I whispered. "Why do you look like that?"
He didn't answer immediately.
His gaze remained fixed on Malcolm's phone.
Dr. Evelyn Cross stood near the hospital elevators, speaking to Sabrina Cole.
Nothing about the photograph seemed extraordinary.
Two women having a conversation.
One wearing medical scrubs.
The other dressed in an expensive cream-colored coat.
But Damian's reaction told me the image represented something much bigger.
"Where was this taken?" he asked.
"Twenty-six minutes ago," Malcolm answered.
"Who else has seen it?"
"The hospital's security department."
Damian looked toward the door.
Then he reached for his phone.
I sat straighter.
"Don't you dare start making calls before you answer me."
He stopped.
For a moment, I saw the husband I'd once loved struggling against the instincts of the man he'd become.
Control first.
Truth later.
It was the pattern that had slowly suffocated our marriage.
"Claire," he said quietly, "there are things about Dr. Cross you don't know."
My heart began to pound.
"Then tell me."
He looked at Malcolm.
"I need to speak with my wife privately."
"No," I replied.
His eyes returned to mine.
"No?"
"Malcolm stays. Jenna stays. And you tell me the truth."
Damian's mouth tightened.
I recognized the expression.
Years earlier, I would have apologized for challenging him in front of others.
Not anymore.
He drew a slow breath.
"Evelyn Cross treated someone connected to my family before she became your specialist."
"Who?"
"My younger brother."
I stared at him.
"Julian?"
Damian nodded.
Julian Moreland had died four years before our wedding.
At least, that was what I'd been told.
He was twenty-seven when a boat carrying him and two associates exploded off the Florida coast.
His body was never recovered.
Damian rarely spoke about him.
When he did, grief transformed his face into something almost unrecognizable.
"What does Julian have to do with my fertility doctor?"
"I don't know everything."
"Then tell me what you do know."
He glanced toward Noah.
"Evelyn was involved in a private medical arrangement for Julian and his fiancée. There were frozen embryos, an inheritance dispute, and a confidentiality agreement."
I felt suddenly cold.
"What kind of arrangement?"
"Julian wanted children. His fiancée had undergone treatment. After he died, the arrangement became complicated."
"Who was his fiancée?"
Damian looked directly at me.
"Sabrina Cole."
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Jenna let out a disbelieving laugh.
"You're joking."
Damian didn't move.
I stared at him.
"Your mistress was engaged to your dead brother?"
"Years ago."
"And you never thought to mention that?"
"It's complicated."
"Stop saying that."
My voice rose sharply enough to wake Noah.
He began to fuss.
I reached for him immediately, drawing him into my arms.
The warmth of his small body helped keep me grounded.
But my thoughts were racing.
Sabrina had once been engaged to Julian.
Dr. Cross had treated them.
Sabrina now had connections to companies involved in my maternity care.
And forged documents had been prepared to give her authority over my baby.
The possibilities forming in my mind were terrifying.
"Is Noah biologically mine?" I asked.
Damian looked stunned.
"Of course he is."
"Did anyone change anything during my fertility treatment?"
"No."
"How can you be certain?"
"Because I was there."
"Not for everything."
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
I remembered the treatment.
The injections.
The monitoring appointments.
The long mornings in waiting rooms filled with women pretending not to watch one another.
The day Dr. Cross called to tell me that an embryo had developed successfully.
The transfer.
The first positive pregnancy test.
The way Damian had cried when we heard the heartbeat.
I remembered every detail.
But I had trusted the medical team.
I had never imagined I might need to question whether the people helping me become a mother had hidden another agenda.
Malcolm stepped forward.
"Claire, before anyone jumps to conclusions, there is no evidence that Noah's parentage has been altered."
I nodded, grateful for his calm voice.
"We can request the records," he continued. "And if you want independent genetic testing, that can be arranged through appropriate consent procedures."
I looked down at Noah.
He was mine.
Whatever anyone said.
I had carried him.
Felt his first movements.
Spent nights whispering to him when I couldn't sleep.
But I also wanted to know what the medical records contained.
"Get them," I said.
Damian shifted.
"Claire, this isn't necessary."
My head snapped up.
"You don't get to decide what's necessary anymore."
He looked wounded.
I didn't care.
"You've had seven years to tell me the truth about Sabrina. Instead, you let her into our lives under a false history and slept with her while I was pregnant."
"Claire—"
"Did you know she was connected to Dr. Cross?"
"Yes."
"Did you recommend Dr. Cross to me because of her?"
"No."
"Then why?"
He rubbed his face.
"Because Evelyn had one of the strongest fertility programs in the region. Because I believed she could help us."
"Did Sabrina recommend her?"
His silence answered before his words did.
"She mentioned her name," he admitted.
Jenna turned away in disgust.
I felt as though someone had opened the floor beneath me.
Seven years of marriage.
Four years of fertility treatment.
And my husband's former sister-in-law-to-be had been involved in choosing the doctor who helped create our child.
"Get out," I whispered.
Damian stared at me.
"Claire."
"Get out."
"Please."
"Now."
He looked toward Noah.
For one terrible second, I thought he might refuse.
Then he stepped backward.
"I'll find out what's happening."
I met his eyes.
"Do it for Noah. Not for me."
His face tightened.
He left without another word.
When the door closed, I finally let myself shake.
Jenna sat beside me.
"Oh, Claire."
I shook my head.
"No crying."
"You're allowed."
"If I start, I won't stop."
She put her arm around my shoulders.
"Then I'll sit here until you do."
For several minutes, she held me while I held Noah.
The three of us formed a small circle of warmth inside a room that suddenly felt surrounded by enemies.
Malcolm gave us space.
Then he returned with a new piece of information.
"I requested preservation of the fertility clinic's records. Their legal department acknowledged the notice."
"Good."
"There's something else."
I looked up.
"Dr. Cross has privileges at Harbor Crest."
I closed my eyes.
Of course she did.
"Does she work here?"
"No."
"Then why was she in the lobby?"
"According to the visitor log, she signed in as a consultant for a family representative."
"Sabrina."
"Yes."
I looked toward the door.
"Can you find out whether she has accessed any information about Noah?"
"The hospital is reviewing its access logs."
I nodded.
"Thank you."
By dawn, the storm had moved east.
Pale morning light filled the room.
A nurse helped me feed Noah.
He latched awkwardly at first, then settled into a rhythm that made tears rise unexpectedly in my eyes.
I stared at him.
He knew nothing about betrayal.
He needed warmth.
Food.
Comfort.
Someone who would answer when he cried.
And suddenly, the difference between love and possession seemed painfully simple.
Love showed up.
Love stayed.
Love didn't demand obedience as the price of protection.
My mother had died when Jenna was fourteen and I was twenty-one.
Afterward, I'd practically raised my sister.
I remembered staying awake through her nightmares.
Driving her to school.
Working extra shifts at a real-estate office to help pay our mortgage.
I had been exhausted for years.
Then Damian entered my life and offered a kind of security I'd never known.
A beautiful house.
Travel.
Money.
A man who promised I'd never have to carry everything alone again.
At first, he kept that promise.
But gradually, the help became control.
He selected the cars I drove because his enemies might target me.
He preferred I work from home because the city wasn't safe.
He asked me to stop meeting certain friends because he couldn't verify their backgrounds.
Each decision seemed reasonable when considered separately.
Together, they had made my life smaller and smaller.
By the time I realized what had happened, I needed permission to go almost anywhere.
I looked at Noah.
"That won't be your life," I whispered.
Jenna smiled sadly.
"Good."
At eight thirty, Malcolm received a telephone call that changed everything.
He stepped outside to answer.
When he returned, his face was grim.
"A woman has contacted my office claiming she worked at the fertility clinic."
"What woman?"
"Her name is Rachel Dunn. She was a senior embryology technician."
"Was?"
"She resigned last month."
"Why?"
"She says she discovered discrepancies in records connected to several high-profile patients."
My heart accelerated.
"Mine?"
"She hasn't confirmed that yet."
"Where is she?"
"At a law office in Hartford. She requested a meeting."
"Can you go?"
"I will."
"When?"
"As soon as another attorney from my firm arrives to remain available for you."
Jenna leaned forward.
"Do you think she's telling the truth?"
"I don't know."
I studied his face.
"But?"
"But she knew about the Asterbridge connection before I mentioned it."
That mattered.
A great deal.
Malcolm continued.
"She also used a phrase I found disturbing."
"What phrase?"
He hesitated.
"She said, 'The Moreland pregnancy wasn't supposed to end with the mother making her own decisions.'"
My skin prickled.
Jenna swore.
I looked toward Noah's bassinet.
"What does that mean?"
"I intend to ask her."
I wanted to leave the hospital immediately.
I wanted to take Noah somewhere nobody knew our names.
But I had given birth less than six hours earlier.
My body ached.
Walking required assistance.
My doctor had recommended observation because of my elevated blood pressure.
Running would be foolish.
For the first time in my life, I had to accept that protecting my son might mean staying still while other people gathered the information I needed.
Malcolm departed shortly after nine.
Before leaving, he placed a small folder beside my bed.
"Copies of your identification, your financial records, emergency contacts, and the legal documents we've prepared."
I opened it.
On top was a draft petition for temporary protective relief concerning my personal medical information and records.
Below it was a separation agreement.
I traced the edge of the paper.
Eight months earlier, signing that agreement had felt unimaginable.
Now I couldn't imagine staying.
"I'll speak with Damian's counsel after you decide how you want to proceed," Malcolm said.
"I've decided."
He looked at me.
"I want a divorce."
The words sounded strange aloud.
Final.
Terrifying.
And right.
Malcolm nodded.
"Then we'll move forward carefully."
After he left, Jenna helped me settle Noah in his bassinet.
She ordered breakfast.
I forced myself to eat scrambled eggs and toast.
Halfway through, my phone vibrated.
An unknown number.
I ignored it.
A message appeared.
Mrs. Moreland, your husband doesn't know who Sabrina really is.
I stared at the screen.
A second message followed.
Don't trust the fertility records.
Then a third.
Ask what happened to Julian's fiancée the night his boat exploded.
I showed Jenna.
Her expression tightened.
"Forward those to Malcolm."
I did.
A moment later, my phone rang again.
The same number.
This time, I answered.
"Who is this?"
A woman spoke softly.
"Someone who made a terrible mistake."
Her voice trembled.
"Are you Rachel Dunn?"
"No."
"Then who?"
A pause.
"My name is Olivia Bennett."
I didn't recognize it.
"What do you want?"
"I used to work for Dr. Cross."
"Why are you calling me?"
"Because I heard you had a baby."
I looked down at Noah.
"How did you get my number?"
"I copied it from an old patient file before I left the clinic."
"That's a serious violation."
"I know. I shouldn't have done it. But I didn't know how else to reach you."
Her breathing sounded uneven.
"Mrs. Moreland, please listen. Rachel Dunn contacted me yesterday. She said she was going to tell a lawyer everything."
"Everything about what?"
Silence.
Then Olivia whispered, "About the embryo storage records. About the money. About the woman who paid Dr. Cross to change a designation."
I felt dizzy.
"Was it Sabrina?"
"I can't say that over the phone."
"Then why call me?"
"Because Rachel isn't answering anymore."
My stomach dropped.
"What do you mean?"
"She called me at six this morning. She said she was frightened. She was supposed to meet someone from a law firm, and now her phone is off."
Malcolm.
He was on his way to meet Rachel.
I reached for Jenna's hand.
"Where are you?"
"At my apartment."
"Give me your address."
"I can't. Not yet."
"Olivia, I have a newborn son. If you know something that could affect him, you need to tell me."
The woman began to cry.
"I know."
"Then tell me."
She drew a shaky breath.
"Julian Moreland's fiancée wasn't supposed to be Sabrina Cole."
My mouth went dry.
"What?"
"That's not her real name."
The room seemed to narrow around me.
"Who is she?"
Before Olivia could answer, I heard a sound on her end of the line.
A door opening.
A man's voice.
Then Olivia whispered, "Oh, God."
The call ended.
I immediately tried to call back.
No answer.
Jenna was already contacting Malcolm.
I stared at Noah, feeling the ground shift beneath me again.
My husband's mistress had a false identity.
My fertility doctor had hidden records.
And someone who tried to reveal the truth had just disappeared from a telephone call.
Then Malcolm answered Jenna.
His voice was breathless.
"Jenna, put Claire on."
She handed me the phone.
"Malcolm?"
"Claire, listen carefully. Rachel Dunn wasn't at the law office when I arrived."
My heart hammered.
"What happened?"
"The receptionist says she left twenty minutes earlier with a man claiming to be from my firm."
I covered my mouth.
"Was he?"
"No."
I could hear traffic behind him.
Then Malcolm said something that made every hair on my body rise.
"Claire, the man identified himself as Julian Moreland."
I stared at the wall.
Julian Moreland.
My husband's younger brother.
May you like
The man who had supposedly died eleven years ago.
And suddenly, the secret surrounding my son's birth became more dangerous than I had ever imagined.
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