PART 4 — THE DNA RESULT THAT DESTROYED DEREK’S LAST LIE
I read Jessica’s message five times.
Your babies can be tested against it.
If they match, Derek is their father.
But if they don’t…
you’re about to discover that the fertility clinic made a mistake much bigger than Noah.
Emily stood across the kitchen table, watching my face.
“What did she say?”
I handed her the phone.
She read the messages.
Then slowly sat down.
For almost a minute, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Emily whispered, “I thought those samples were gone.”
“Why?”
“Because after Noah was born, Derek told me he stopped paying for storage.”
“But he didn’t.”
“No.”
“He moved them.”
She looked at me.
“And somehow Jessica knew.”
I took my phone back.
Jessica had sent an address.
A small café in Matthews.
11:30 a.m.
COME ALONE.
I showed Emily.
“No.”
Her answer was immediate.
“You’re not meeting her alone.”
“She specifically said—”
“I don’t care.”
“She may have the lab report.”
“And she may also be working with Derek.”
That possibility had already crossed my mind.
Jessica had betrayed him once.
But she had lied to me for years.
I didn’t trust her.
I didn’t trust Derek.
At this point, I barely trusted anyone connected to my marriage.
I called Melissa.
She answered on the second ring.
“Please tell me you didn’t contact Derek.”
“I didn’t.”
“Good.”
“Jessica wants to meet.”
Silence.
“What does she want?”
“She says she has Derek’s old fertility lab report.”
Melissa paused.
“Do not go alone.”
“That’s what Emily said.”
“Emily is right.”
“What if Jessica refuses to talk if someone comes with me?”
“Then don’t bring someone to the table.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“Choose a public location. Have someone nearby. Share your location. Do not get into her car. Do not leave the café with her. And do not hand over the flash drive.”
I looked at Emily.
She nodded immediately.
“I’ll stay nearby.”
Melissa continued.
“One more thing.”
“What?”
“If Jessica brings documents, don’t take originals unless she voluntarily gives them to you. Photograph them.”
“Why?”
“Because we still don’t know where everything came from.”
I exhaled.
“Okay.”
“And Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“The forensic accountant found another transfer this morning.”
My stomach tightened.
“How much?”
“Thirty-two thousand.”
“From where?”
“A vendor account.”
“Derek’s company?”
“It appears so.”
I closed my eyes.
“Where did it go?”
“To an account connected to Larkstone.”
Jessica’s LLC.
Emily’s stolen identity.
The condo.
The hidden money.
Everything kept circling back.
Melissa lowered her voice.
“Company counsel has now been notified.”
“By you?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“My guess?”
“Jessica.”
That made sense.
“She contacted them before she came to my house.”
“Exactly.”
“What happens now?”
“Derek may be placed on administrative leave while they investigate.”
“May?”
“Sarah, his employer will handle its own process.”
“And the police?”
“Financial crimes take time.”
I looked toward the window.
Time.
That was the one thing Derek had always believed he controlled.
He had spent years arranging his exit.
Years hiding money.
Years keeping women in separate versions of his life.
But suddenly every clock was working against him.
At 11:20, Emily parked across the street from the café.
“I’ll be right here.”
I nodded.
“If anything feels wrong, leave.”
“I will.”
“And Sarah?”
I looked at her.
“Do not underestimate Jessica just because she cried on your porch.”
“I don’t.”
“Good.”
I entered the café.
Jessica was already there.
She sat in the far corner wearing sunglasses even though we were indoors.
Her hair was tied back.
No makeup.
No diamond bracelet.
She looked smaller than I remembered.
Not physically.
Just stripped of the confidence she had carried into my ultrasound appointment.
I sat across from her.
“You have ten minutes.”
She removed her sunglasses.
Her eyes were swollen.
“I deserve that.”
“You deserve less.”
She nodded.
I didn’t expect agreement.
“Where’s Derek?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you expect me to believe that?”
“No.”
She took a breath.
“But I really don’t.”
“Then start talking.”
Jessica opened her bag.
She removed a folder.
She didn’t slide it toward me yet.
“Before I show you this, I need you to understand something.”
“I’m not interested in your justification.”
“It isn’t a justification.”
“Good.”
Her fingers tightened around the folder.
“I knew Derek before you.”
“I know.”
Her face changed.
“Emily told you.”
“Yes.”
Jessica looked toward the window.
“How much?”
“Enough.”
She swallowed.
“Then you know Noah.”
“I met him.”
That surprised her.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
For a second, I saw something strange.
Not jealousy.
Not anger.
Guilt.
“You knew him too, didn’t you?”
Jessica looked down.
“Once.”
“When?”
“When he was a baby.”
My hands curled beneath the table.
“Were you with Derek while Emily was pregnant?”
Jessica didn’t answer.
That was enough.
“You were.”
“I was twenty-six.”
“I don’t care how old you were.”
“I know.”
“You knew he had a fiancée.”
“Yes.”
“You knew they were expecting a child.”
“Yes.”
“And you continued sleeping with him.”
She closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
At least she wasn’t lying now.
“Did you know about the breathing monitor?”
Her eyes opened.
“No.”
“Emily has phone records showing Derek called you that night.”
Jessica went pale.
“He called me, but I didn’t know what was happening.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he was losing his mind.”
“Because his premature son needed medical care?”
“He said Emily was obsessed with the baby.”
I felt disgust rise inside me.
“And what did you say?”
Jessica’s voice cracked.
“I told him to leave the house and calm down.”
My entire body went rigid.
“What?”
“I didn’t know Noah was alone.”
“You told him to leave?”
“I thought Emily was there.”
“But she wasn’t.”
“I know that now.”
I stared at her.
“Did he leave the room because of you?”
Jessica began crying.
“I don’t know.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“He told me later that Noah had stopped breathing.”
“And?”
“I panicked.”
“What did Derek do?”
“He told me not to contact him anymore.”
I frowned.
“For how long?”
“Almost a year.”
That surprised me.
“Why?”
“Because Emily’s attorney had obtained the phone records. Derek was afraid they would connect me to the custody case.”
Of course.
Not guilt.
Protection.
Always protection.
His own.
Jessica wiped her face.
“Eventually he contacted me again.”
“And you took him back.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“Because I was stupid.”
“No.”
I leaned toward her.
“You were selfish.”
She met my eyes.
I continued.
“There’s a difference.”
She nodded slowly.
“You’re right.”
I sat back.
“Show me the report.”
Jessica opened the folder.
The first page carried the name of the Raleigh fertility clinic.
The date was eleven years earlier.
There was a specimen identification number.
Letters.
Numbers.
A barcode.
Derek Thomas Mercer.
I photographed it.
Jessica flipped to another page.
“These were the samples frozen after his injury.”
“Before Noah?”
“Yes.”
“And this is definitely Derek’s?”
“That’s what the clinic records say.”
“What do you mean, ‘what the records say’?”
She hesitated.
“Because six years ago, the clinic discovered something.”
“The labeling discrepancy.”
“Yes.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“What exactly happened?”
“There was an internal audit.”
“Why?”
“A former employee reported that specimen logs had been altered.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Altered?”
Jessica nodded.
“The clinic contacted patients whose samples were handled during a specific eighteen-month period.”
“Derek was one of them.”
“Yes.”
“Emily said she was contacted.”
“She was.”
“Were you?”
“Not then.”
“Why would you be?”
Jessica looked down at the folder.
“Because years later, Derek and I tried to use one of the remaining samples.”
There it was.
The life they had planned.
The one hidden behind my marriage.
“When?”
“About nineteen months ago.”
“I know about the consultation.”
She looked surprised again.
“You know a lot.”
“More every day.”
Jessica swallowed.
“When the clinic pulled the samples, there was a discrepancy between the genetic identifier stored in the specimen record and a later blood sample Derek provided.”
I stared at her.
“What kind of discrepancy?”
“They didn’t match.”
My heartbeat changed.
“What?”
“The genetic profile attached to the frozen sperm was not consistent with Derek’s later DNA sample.”
I sat completely still.
“Then the frozen sperm wasn’t his.”
“That was one possibility.”
“What was the other?”
“That the later DNA sample had been mislabeled.”
“Which was it?”
“They repeated Derek’s blood test.”
“And?”
“It matched the first blood test.”
The café suddenly felt too warm.
“So the sperm stored under Derek’s name…”
“Probably belonged to another man.”
I thought about Noah.
Emily’s fertility treatment.
The preserved samples.
“Oh my God.”
Jessica nodded.
“That’s why there was uncertainty about Noah.”
“But Derek knew this six years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And he never told me.”
“No.”
“Did he tell Emily?”
“Eventually.”
“She said the clinic contacted her.”
“They did.”
“Did Derek ever do a paternity test with Noah?”
Jessica’s eyes shifted.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“At first he said it didn’t matter because he had already given up custody.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Later…”
She stopped.
“What?”
Jessica looked nervous.
“Later he said he didn’t want to know.”
“Why?”
“I asked him the same thing.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Some truths cost more than they’re worth.’”
I stared at her.
That sentence sounded like Derek too.
“What does any of this have to do with my babies?”
Jessica slid another page toward me.
“This.”
It was a laboratory comparison report from the clinic.
I read the first lines.
Stored specimen identifier: DTM-4417.
Verified patient genetic profile: DTM-BLOOD.
Conclusion:
NON-CONSISTENT DONOR PROFILES.
I photographed it.
Jessica pointed to a handwritten note.
“The clinic preserved documentation because of possible litigation.”
“Did anyone sue?”
“Several patients did.”
“Derek?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he didn’t want his name involved.”
My skin prickled.
“Why?”
Jessica gave me a strange look.
“That’s what I never understood.”
“Until now?”
She hesitated.
“Maybe.”
I stared.
“Talk.”
“Derek wasn’t upset when he found out the samples might not be his.”
That made no sense.
“He had paid to preserve them.”
“I know.”
“He wanted biological children.”
“I know.”
“Then why wasn’t he furious?”
Jessica leaned closer.
“Because by then, he already knew something else.”
My heartbeat increased.
“What?”
“He had undergone another fertility evaluation.”
“When?”
“About seven years ago.”
During our marriage.
“What did it show?”
Jessica looked at me.
“Severe infertility.”
I stared.
“How severe?”
“His doctor told him natural conception would be extremely unlikely.”
My mouth went dry.
“Extremely unlikely isn’t impossible.”
“No.”
“But?”
Jessica’s fingers tightened.
“But his numbers were apparently close to zero.”
I thought of the ultrasound room.
Derek’s certainty.
His cruelty.
His insistence that I must have cheated.
Maybe it had not come only from the vasectomy.
Maybe he had been carrying another secret reason to believe he couldn’t be a father.
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“I asked him.”
“When?”
“When we started discussing IVF.”
“And what did he say?”
“That you wanted children too badly.”
I felt something inside me break.
Not loudly.
Quietly.
A final piece of the marriage I had once believed in.
“He let me believe we had a chance.”
Jessica looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
“I spent years wondering why I wasn’t getting pregnant.”
She said nothing.
“I tracked cycles.”
Silence.
“I bought ovulation tests.”
Jessica looked down.
“I cried in bathrooms.”
Her eyes filled.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
I pushed my chair back slightly.
I wanted air.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I asked:
“Why did you agree to have children with him if you knew all this?”
Jessica’s answer was almost a whisper.
“Because he told me we could use donor sperm.”
I stared.
“Not his frozen samples?”
“At first we thought the samples were his.”
“And after the clinic told you they weren’t?”
“He said it didn’t matter.”
My stomach twisted.
“He was willing to raise a child conceived with someone else’s sperm?”
“Yes.”
“But he abandoned Noah because Noah might not be biologically his.”
Jessica’s face tightened.
“That wasn’t why he abandoned Noah.”
“No.”
I leaned forward.
“He abandoned Noah because Noah was difficult.”
She looked away.
“And then he accused me of cheating because my babies might not be biologically his.”
Jessica’s eyes met mine.
I continued.
“Do you understand what kind of man that makes him?”
Her answer came quietly.
“I do now.”
I almost laughed.
“Convenient timing.”
She flinched.
I pointed toward the report.
“You said my babies can be tested against the stored sample.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“The clinic still has the genetic profile from the stored specimen.”
“But if the sample wasn’t Derek’s, that only tells us whether my babies match the unknown donor.”
“Correct.”
“Why would that matter?”
Jessica’s expression became tense.
“Because Derek told me something yesterday.”
“What?”
“He said there was no point worrying about paternity anymore.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“He said he already knew the babies were his.”
My blood turned cold.
“What?”
“He said he had proof.”
“What proof?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“I know.”
“He went from calling me a cheater to saying he knows they’re his?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After he left your house.”
The morning the police came.
The morning Jessica gave me the flash drive.
“What happened after you left?”
“I went home.”
“And Derek?”
“He came to my house two hours later.”
“Why?”
“He wanted the drive.”
“Did you tell him I had it?”
“No.”
“What did you say?”
“That I destroyed it.”
“Did he believe you?”
“At first.”
“And then?”
“He started going through my things.”
My chest tightened.
“Did he hurt you?”
Jessica hesitated.
“No.”
I didn’t believe the hesitation.
But I didn’t push.
“He kept saying I didn’t understand what was on the drive.”
“What was he afraid of?”
“I thought it was the money.”
“But now?”
Jessica shook her head.
“No.”
I stared at her.
“Then what?”
“There is a folder I didn’t copy.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Why not?”
“It was encrypted.”
“Name?”
“REPRODUCTIVE.”
“What was inside?”
“I don’t know.”
“Derek does.”
“Yes.”
I looked down at the folder.
“And yesterday he suddenly claims he knows my twins are his.”
Jessica nodded.
Something about that terrified me more than his earlier accusations.
Because Derek did not change his mind without a reason.
I photographed every page Jessica brought.
Then I looked at her.
“What do you want from me?”
She seemed surprised.
“What?”
“You didn’t call me because you suddenly developed a conscience.”
Her face tightened.
“What do you want?”
“I want protection.”
“From whom?”
“Derek.”
“You lived with him.”
“I know.”
“You defended him.”
“I know.”
“You helped him hide money.”
“I didn’t understand—”
“Stop.”
She stopped.
“What protection?”
Jessica swallowed.
“His company investigators contacted me.”
“And?”
“They want me to cooperate.”
“Then cooperate.”
“If I do, Derek will know.”
“He already knows you turned against him.”
“It’s more than that.”
She leaned forward.
“The money wasn’t only for the condo.”
“What else?”
“I helped create vendor accounts.”
My stomach dropped.
“You knew?”
“Not at first.”
“That phrase is doing a lot of work for you.”
Her eyes filled.
“I thought they were consulting businesses.”
“And later?”
“I realized some didn’t exist.”
“How much money?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
“At least four hundred thousand.”
I stared.
Four hundred thousand.
My mind went blank.
Jessica whispered, “Maybe more.”
“And some of it went through Larkstone.”
“Yes.”
“Using Emily’s identity.”
“I didn’t know he used her information.”
“But you signed company documents.”
“Yes.”
“You opened accounts.”
“Yes.”
“You accepted money.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
“You need a criminal attorney.”
“I have one.”
That surprised me.
“Good.”
“He told me to cooperate.”
“Then why are you talking to me?”
“Because there’s something investigators don’t know.”
I felt exhausted.
“What?”
Jessica glanced around.
Then lowered her voice.
“Derek didn’t start stealing eighteen months ago.”
My skin prickled.
“How long?”
“Years.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jessica.”
“At least six.”
Six years.
Around the same period as the fertility-clinic discovery.
Around the same period Derek learned how infertile he was.
“Why?”
She shook her head.
“He never told me everything.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he needed money to fix an old problem.”
“What problem?”
“I thought he meant Noah.”
I stared at her.
“How would stealing money fix Noah?”
“He said there had been payments.”
“To Emily?”
“That’s what I assumed.”
“But Emily only got seventy-five thousand.”
Jessica nodded.
“And Derek was moving much more.”
My mind raced.
“What was he paying for?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she added:
“But there was one recurring name.”
“What name?”
She wrote it on a napkin.
DR. MARTIN VALE.
I frowned.
“Who is that?”
Jessica’s face went pale.
“A former embryologist from the fertility clinic.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“Former?”
“He left after the specimen scandal.”
Everything inside me went cold.
“Derek paid him?”
“I saw transfers.”
“How much?”
“Sometimes ten thousand. Sometimes fifteen.”
“For six years?”
“Not every month.”
“But repeatedly.”
“Yes.”
I stared at the name.
Dr. Martin Vale.
The fertility clinic.
The mislabeled samples.
Noah’s uncertain paternity.
Derek’s hidden reproductive records.
And money.
Always money.
“What was Derek paying him for?”
“I don’t know.”
Jessica put her sunglasses back on.
“I think that’s what’s inside the encrypted folder.”
She stood.
“Where are you going?”
“To meet my attorney.”
I looked at her.
“If you remember anything else—”
“I’ll tell Melissa.”
She paused.
Then removed something from her bag.
A small key.
She placed it on the table.
“What’s this?”
“Safe-deposit box.”
I didn’t touch it.
“Whose?”
“Derek’s.”
My heart jumped.
“How do you have his key?”
“He kept it in my condo.”
“What bank?”
She slid a card beside it.
“Jessica—”
“I don’t know what’s inside.”
“Then why give it to me?”
“Because three nights ago, he asked if I still had it.”
My pulse quickened.
“What did you say?”
“No.”
“Did he believe you?”
“I don’t know.”
I stared at the key.
“Why not give it to investigators?”
“I’m going to tell them.”
“Then keep it.”
Jessica shook her head.
“No.”
“Why?”
Her voice trembled.
“Because Derek thinks it’s still in my apartment.”
I understood.
She didn’t want to possess the thing he wanted.
Neither did I.
I pushed it back.
“Give it to your attorney.”
She looked at me.
Then nodded.
“You’re smarter than I was.”
“No.”
I stood.
“I just finally know who Derek is.”
When I returned to Emily’s car, I told her everything.
She listened without interrupting.
When I finished, her face was pale.
“Martin Vale.”
“You know him?”
“I recognize the name.”
“From where?”
“The fertility clinic.”
“Did you meet him?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“During treatment.”
My stomach tightened.
“Was he involved with Noah’s conception?”
Emily thought.
“I think so.”
“Think?”
“There were several lab staff.”
“Could he have handled Derek’s specimen?”
“Yes.”
I called Melissa.
She immediately asked for photographs of the documents.
Then I told her about Martin Vale.
There was a long pause.
“I’m going to have someone research the name.”
“Who?”
“Our investigator.”
“You have an investigator?”
“I do now.”
That was both reassuring and terrifying.
“Jessica says Derek paid him.”
“We’ll look for transfers.”
“She thinks the encrypted folder is connected.”
“Do not attempt to break encryption yourself.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
I hesitated.
“Melissa, Jessica says Derek suddenly claims he knows the twins are his.”
“That’s interesting.”
“It scares me.”
“It should make us cautious.”
“What could he know?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you have a theory.”
She sighed.
“One.”
“What?”
“If Derek had reason to believe he was not completely sterile before the vasectomy, he may have obtained another fertility test.”
“Without telling me.”
“Possibly.”
“And it showed sperm?”
“Possibly.”
I thought about it.
That would explain his sudden confidence.
But not the encrypted folder.
Not the payments to Martin Vale.
Not the old sample mix-up.
“Can I do paternity testing before birth?”
“There are noninvasive prenatal options.”
My hand moved to my stomach.
“Would you recommend it?”
“I would recommend speaking with your doctor.”
That afternoon, I called Dr. Evans.
I told her part of the situation.
Not the stolen money.
Not the affair history.
Just the uncertain fertility records and my need to establish paternity safely.
She listened.
Then said:
“There is a blood-based prenatal paternity test that can sometimes be performed using fetal DNA circulating in your blood and a sample from the alleged father.”
“Derek would never agree.”
“Then that makes it difficult.”
“What if we have a verified genetic sample from him?”
“That depends entirely on chain of custody and the laboratory.”
I explained the old clinic blood profile.
Dr. Evans was cautious.
“That may help answer certain genetic questions, but legally established paternity is another matter.”
“I understand.”
“What are you trying to know, Sarah?”
I looked toward Emily’s living room.
Noah was building something from blocks on the floor.
“I want to know the truth.”
Dr. Evans was quiet.
Then she said:
“Then start with medically reliable testing, not old paperwork.”
She arranged a referral to a genetics specialist.
Two days later, I sat in another clinic.
Emily waited outside.
Melissa had advised me not to tell Derek yet.
The genetic counselor, Dr. Maya Patel, reviewed the records Jessica had provided.
She looked at them for a long time.
“This is unusual.”
“That seems to be the theme of my life.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile.
Then returned to the documents.
“This frozen specimen profile appears to represent a male donor.”
“But not Derek.”
“Based on this comparison report, apparently not.”
“Can you compare my babies to it?”
“Not in the way you’re imagining without appropriate testing and validated samples.”
My heart sank.
“But we can perform noninvasive prenatal testing for certain markers.”
“Paternity?”
“Not definitively without an appropriate paternal reference sample.”
I nodded.
Of course.
There would be no magical answer.
Not yet.
Then she turned another page.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
She pointed to one line on the old fertility report.
“Do you know Derek’s blood type?”
“Yes.”
“A positive.”
“You’re sure?”
“He donates blood at work. I’ve seen the card.”
Dr. Patel looked back at the report.
“That’s interesting.”
My chest tightened.
“Why?”
“This verified blood profile from the clinic lists him as O negative.”
I stared.
“No.”
“That’s what it says.”
“That’s wrong.”
“Possibly.”
“But they repeated the blood sample.”
“According to the report, yes.”
My mind raced.
Jessica said the clinic repeated Derek’s DNA blood test.
The frozen sperm didn’t match.
But what if the blood sample itself wasn’t Derek’s?
“Could someone’s blood type change?”
“Not ordinarily.”
“Then one of these records belongs to someone else.”
“Potentially.”
I felt a chill.
“Which one?”
“That would require proper verification.”
I called Emily immediately after leaving.
“Do you know Derek’s blood type?”
She answered without hesitation.
“A positive.”
My stomach dropped.
“Why?”
“The clinic’s verified sample says O negative.”
Silence.
Then Emily said:
“That’s not Derek.”
“I know.”
“Sarah…”
“I know.”
If the blood profile used to prove that the frozen sperm wasn’t Derek’s also belonged to someone else…
then nothing was settled.
Maybe the sperm was Derek’s.
Maybe the blood was wrong.
Maybe both were wrong.
Maybe the entire fertility record had been manipulated.
And somehow Derek had been paying a former embryologist for years.
I called Melissa next.
She answered with:
“We found Vale.”
My breath caught.
“Where?”
“Not physically yet. But we found his history.”
“And?”
“He was investigated in connection with the fertility clinic.”
“For specimen mix-ups?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“Records alteration.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Was he charged?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Insufficient evidence.”
“What happened to him?”
“He surrendered his professional license.”
I gripped the phone.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“He later formed a private consulting company.”
“That sounds normal.”
“It would.”
Melissa paused.
“If Derek hadn’t paid that company approximately one hundred and twelve thousand dollars over five years.”
I sat down hard.
“One hundred and twelve?”
“Yes.”
“For what?”
“The invoices say medical consulting.”
“Derek works in regional operations.”
“I know.”
“He has no reason to pay an embryologist.”
“I know.”
My mouth went dry.
“Where did the money come from?”
“Some from Derek personally.”
“And the rest?”
“Accounts we’re still tracing.”
I closed my eyes.
“This is what he’s hiding.”
“Maybe.”
“Melissa.”
“There’s more.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“Vale’s consulting company received another payment yesterday.”
My eyes opened.
“Yesterday?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”
“From Derek?”
“From an account connected to one of the suspicious vendors.”
My pulse began pounding.
“What does that mean?”
“It means whatever relationship they have may still be active.”
That evening, Derek appeared on television.
Not literally because of me.
His company had issued a statement to a local business reporter.
A regional director had been placed on administrative leave pending an internal financial review.
They didn’t name him.
They didn’t need to.
Everyone at the company knew.
Within an hour, my phone filled with messages from people who had ignored me after Derek accused me of cheating.
Sarah, are you okay?
I’m so sorry.
We didn’t know.
Thinking about you.
I stared at them.
Weeks earlier, none of them had needed evidence before believing I was unfaithful.
Now they wanted forgiveness before there was even proof Derek had stolen anything.
I didn’t answer.
Around nine that night, Mark called.
“I thought you should know.”
“What?”
“Security escorted Derek out of the building.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“He was fired?”
“No. Leave pending investigation.”
“What happened?”
“He tried to get into a records office after his access had been suspended.”
My skin prickled.
“What records?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he get in?”
“No.”
“Anything else?”
Mark hesitated.
“He kept asking whether IT had imaged his laptop.”
My eyes moved toward the flash drive.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
We both knew that wasn’t true.
He knew there was something on that computer.
Something worse than invoices.
I barely slept.
At 3:17 a.m., my phone vibrated.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
I ignored it.
It rang again.
Again.
On the fourth call, I answered.
No one spoke.
“Hello?”
Silence.
“Who is this?”
Then a man’s voice.
Older.
Raspy.
“Are you Sarah Mercer?”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Who is this?”
“Martin Vale.”
I sat upright.
My body went cold.
“How did you get my number?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“You have files that do not belong to you.”
I gripped the phone.
“Derek told you.”
“No.”
“Then how do you know?”
Silence.
“Mr. Vale?”
“You need to stop.”
My voice became steady.
“Stop what?”
“Digging into old clinic records.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t understand them.”
“Then explain them.”
He exhaled.
“This isn’t something I will discuss on the phone.”
“I’m not meeting you.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“What do you want?”
“To warn you.”
“About Derek?”
Another pause.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
“About what?”
“The records.”
“What about them?”
“They were altered.”
I stopped breathing.
“By you?”
He didn’t answer.
“That’s why Derek paid you, isn’t it?”
His voice hardened.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“One hundred and twelve thousand dollars says otherwise.”
Silence.
The kind of silence that confirms more than words.
I continued.
“Was the frozen sperm Derek’s?”
Vale inhaled slowly.
“I can’t answer that.”
“Was the blood sample Derek’s?”
“I can’t answer that either.”
“Could Noah be Derek’s biological son?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you know?”
His next words were so quiet I almost missed them.
“I know Derek should never have been given access to those files.”
My skin prickled.
“What files?”
No answer.
“The encrypted folder?”
Silence.
“Mr. Vale.”
He whispered:
“You need to understand something about your husband.”
“What?”
“Derek didn’t pay me to hide that the clinic made a mistake.”
My heart stopped.
“What did he pay you to hide?”
Vale breathed into the phone.
Then:
“That he knew about the mistake before Noah was conceived.”
I froze.
Every thought vanished.
“What?”
“He knew there was a specimen problem.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Emily was told years later.”
“Emily was told years later.”
“But Derek knew earlier?”
Silence.
“How?”
Vale didn’t answer.
My voice rose.
“How did he know?”
“Because he found out during an internal incident.”
“What incident?”
Vale sounded frightened now.
“Sarah, I shouldn’t have called.”
“You called me.”
“I made a mistake.”
“Then finish it.”
“I can’t.”
“Did Derek knowingly let Emily use sperm that might belong to another man?”
Vale said nothing.
My stomach twisted.
“Did he?”
Still nothing.
That silence was unbearable.
Then I heard a sound on Vale’s end.
A door.
Footsteps.
He whispered:
“I have to go.”
“Wait.”
“One thing.”
“What?”
“If Derek tells you he knows your babies are his…”
I gripped the phone.
“Yes?”
“Ask him how.”
My heart pounded.
“What does that mean?”
But Vale had already disconnected.
I called back.
No answer.
Again.
No answer.
I immediately called Melissa.
She answered sleepily until I said the name Martin Vale.
Then she was fully awake.
I told her everything.
“Do not contact him again.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll notify the investigators.”
“He said Derek knew about the specimen problem before Noah was conceived.”
“I heard you.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t know.”
“But if it’s true—”
“If it’s true, it changes the timeline considerably.”
“What could Derek possibly gain?”
Melissa was quiet.
Then she said:
“Maybe biological parenthood wasn’t the objective.”
I stared into the darkness.
“What was?”
“I don’t know.”
The next morning, Emily sat across from me while I repeated Vale’s words.
Her face went completely blank.
“He knew?”
“That’s what Vale claimed.”
Emily stood.
“No.”
She paced toward the window.
“No.”
“Emily—”
“He watched me inject hormones into my stomach.”
Her voice shook.
“He drove me to appointments.”
She turned.
“He held my hand during the embryo transfer.”
Tears streamed down her face.
“If he knew the sample might not be his…”
I couldn’t finish for her.
She did.
“Then he let me build a family on a lie.”
I knew that feeling.
It was the foundation Derek used for every relationship.
Not one lie.
A structure of them.
Each supporting another.
Emily covered her face.
Then Noah entered the room.
“Mom?”
She immediately wiped her cheeks.
“I’m okay.”
He looked at her.
Then at me.
Children always know when adults are lying.
Even when the lie is meant to protect them.
Noah sat beside his mother.
She put an arm around him.
I watched them.
And suddenly something became clear.
Whatever DNA eventually said, Emily was his mother.
She had stayed.
She had protected him.
That mattered more than any laboratory mistake.
My babies would have the same certainty from me.
They would never wonder whether I wanted them.
My phone rang.
Dr. Evans.
“Sarah?”
“Yes?”
“I’m calling because Dr. Patel contacted me with your permission.”
My chest tightened.
“Okay.”
“She mentioned the conflicting blood-type records.”
“Yes.”
“I reviewed Derek’s medical history available in our system.”
I held my breath.
“And?”
“There’s something unusual.”
“What?”
“The vasectomy records.”
My pulse jumped.
“What about them?”
“The operative report is there.”
“Yes?”
“But the post-operative pathology entry is unusual.”
“I don’t understand.”
“During a vasectomy, segments of the vas deferens may be sent for examination depending on practice. Derek’s chart contains a pathology report.”
“Okay.”
“The identifying information doesn’t fully match.”
My mouth went dry.
“What doesn’t match?”
“Date of birth.”
I stood.
“What?”
“The pathology specimen lists Derek’s name and medical record number, but a different date of birth.”
“How different?”
“Eleven years.”
A chill moved through me.
“Could it be a clerical error?”
“Yes.”
“But?”
“I checked the surgeon’s schedule.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“There were two vasectomies performed that morning.”
I stopped breathing.
“And the other patient?”
“I can’t disclose another patient’s information.”
“Do you think the records were mixed up?”
“I’m saying the documentation requires review.”
My knees weakened.
“Dr. Evans… did Derek definitely have a vasectomy?”
“I personally did not perform it.”
“But there would be scars.”
“Yes.”
“He recovered from something.”
“Yes.”
“Could he have had a different procedure?”
“I can’t speculate.”
I sat down.
The room seemed to tilt.
Derek’s certainty.
The missing follow-up.
His old fertility records.
His sudden claim that he now knew the twins were his.
“What are you telling me?”
“I’m telling you not to assume the records are perfect.”
After we hung up, I stared at the wall.
Then I remembered something.
The week after Derek’s surgery.
I had changed the dressing once.
He wouldn’t let me look closely.
He became angry.
“I can handle it myself.”
I thought he was embarrassed.
What if he had been hiding something else?
I called Jessica.
She answered immediately.
“Did Derek ever show you his vasectomy paperwork?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before he moved in.”
“What did you see?”
“A discharge sheet.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Did you ever see the incision?”
Jessica hesitated.
“Sarah…”
“Answer me.”
“No.”
My heartbeat thundered.
“He told you he was sterile.”
“Yes.”
“He told me he had a vasectomy.”
“Yes.”
“What if he didn’t?”
Silence.
Jessica finally whispered:
“Oh my God.”
I called Melissa.
By noon, she had requested records through proper legal channels.
We couldn’t simply force answers instantly.
But we didn’t need to.
Because Derek answered the question himself.
At 2:14 p.m., I received an email.
From him.
Subject:
STOP.
The message contained only three lines.
You have taken this too far.
The babies are mine.
I can prove it.
I stared at the screen.
Then another email arrived.
An attachment.
Laboratory Report.
My hand shook as I opened it.
Recent semen analysis.
Patient:
Derek Thomas Mercer.
Date:
Three weeks earlier.
Three weeks.
Before he accused me.
Before he left.
Before he demanded DNA testing.
Before the ultrasound.
The result showed sperm present.
Low concentration.
But present.
I felt the blood drain from my face.
He knew.
Derek knew before he accused me that his vasectomy had not made him sterile.
He had undergone testing.
He had proof sperm remained.
And he still called me a cheater.
He still left.
He still moved in with Jessica.
He still let his mother humiliate me.
He still posted about me publicly.
He still tried to force me into signing away property.
My vision blurred.
This was never misunderstanding.
It was strategy.
I forwarded the document to Melissa.
Then I called Derek.
For the first time since all of this began, I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Sarah.”
His voice sounded relieved.
“You finally understand.”
I almost laughed.
“Understand what?”
“The babies are probably mine.”
“Probably?”
“You know what I mean.”
“No.”
My voice was calm.
“I understand something much more important.”
“What?”
“You knew.”
Silence.
“You had a semen analysis three weeks before you accused me.”
Derek said nothing.
“You knew sperm was still present.”
“Sarah—”
“You knew the vasectomy had not been confirmed effective.”
“It was complicated.”
“No.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand perfectly.”
My hand trembled, but my voice didn’t.
“You needed a reason to leave me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You already had Jessica.”
Silence.
“You already had the condo.”
“Sarah.”
“You already moved money.”
“Those accounts have nothing to do with you.”
“They have everything to do with our divorce.”
His voice hardened.
“You need to stop listening to Melissa.”
I almost smiled.
There he was.
The real Derek.
“Why?”
“She’s filling your head with nonsense.”
“What nonsense?”
“That I stole money.”
“Did you?”
Silence.
“That Jessica knew about Noah?”
No answer.
“That you knew the fertility samples were compromised before Noah was conceived?”
His breathing changed.
Very slightly.
But I heard it.
“How do you know that?”
That was all I needed.
Not denial.
How do you know?
“Martin Vale called me.”
Complete silence.
Then:
“What?”
“He called last night.”
“You spoke to Vale?”
“Yes.”
Derek’s voice transformed.
“Sarah, listen to me very carefully.”
I felt cold.
“You need to stop talking to him.”
“Why?”
“He’s dangerous.”
“More dangerous than you?”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“Vale is a liar.”
“Then why did you pay him for five years?”
Derek stopped breathing.
At least it sounded that way.
“You’ve been going through private financial records.”
“Investigators are doing that now.”
“Investigators?”
His voice cracked.
I closed my eyes.
He hadn’t known.
“Your company knows, Derek.”
“What did you do?”
There it was.
Not:
What happened?
Not:
There must be a mistake.
What did you do?
“I told the truth.”
“You stupid—”
He stopped himself.
I waited.
His voice dropped.
“You have no idea what you’re doing.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Then explain it.”
“I can’t.”
“Why did you pay Vale?”
Silence.
“Why did you know about the sample problem before Noah was conceived?”
No answer.
“Why did you hide your infertility from me?”
“Sarah—”
“Why did you test your semen before accusing me?”
His voice became low.
“Because I needed to know.”
“You knew.”
“I needed certainty.”
“You had enough certainty to destroy me publicly.”
“That wasn’t—”
“You wanted me gone.”
Silence.
“You wanted the house.”
Silence.
“You wanted the money.”
“Stop.”
“You wanted Jessica.”
“Stop.”
“And you wanted everyone to believe I caused it.”
“I SAID STOP!”
His shout exploded through the phone.
Then quiet.
I waited.
He breathed heavily.
Finally:
“You think you’re winning.”
“This isn’t a game.”
“It will feel like one when you lose everything.”
My skin prickled.
“Is that a threat?”
“No.”
“It sounded like one.”
“You have no idea what’s in those clinic records.”
“Then tell me.”
“No.”
“Tell me.”
His voice became strangely calm.
“You want the truth?”
“Yes.”
“Ask Emily what she signed before Noah was conceived.”
I froze.
“What?”
“She knows.”
“What did she sign?”
Derek laughed once.
A cold sound.
“Ask her.”
Then he disconnected.
I turned toward Emily.
She had been standing in the doorway.
Her face was white.
“You heard.”
She nodded.
“What did you sign?”
“I don’t know what he means.”
“Think.”
Her eyes moved rapidly.
“There were dozens of fertility forms.”
“What kind?”
“Consent forms. Storage forms. Genetic testing.”
“Anything unusual?”
She shook her head.
Then stopped.
“What?”
“There was one form.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“Derek brought it home instead of us signing at the clinic.”
“What did it say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Emily.”
“It was eleven years ago.”
“What was it for?”
“He said it allowed the clinic to use an alternate specimen if his sample wasn’t viable.”
I stared.
“Alternate specimen?”
“That’s what he said.”
“Did you read it?”
Her face collapsed.
“No.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
We had both trusted him.
“What did you sign, Emily?”
“I don’t know.”
She started crying.
“I don’t know.”
Melissa arranged for Emily’s old attorney to search archived records.
By late afternoon, we had the answer.
A scanned fertility consent form.
Emily’s signature.
Derek’s signature.
One section had been checked.
USE OF DONOR GAMETES AUTHORIZED IF MEDICALLY NECESSARY.
My stomach tightened.
Emily stared at the form.
“I never agreed to donor sperm.”
“But your signature is there.”
“He told me it meant his frozen sample.”
She looked horrified.
“He lied.”
Again.
Always.
Melissa studied the document.
“Whether the consent was adequately informed is a separate issue.”
Emily covered her mouth.
“But why?”
I thought about Vale’s statement.
Derek knew the sample might be compromised before Noah was conceived.
Maybe he had knowingly allowed donor sperm.
Maybe he had never cared whose DNA created Noah.
Until Noah became difficult.
Then biology became convenient.
But something still didn’t fit.
The payments.
The altered records.
The encrypted folder.
That night, Melissa called again.
Her voice was different.
Tense.
“We got access to another set of financial records.”
“What did you find?”
“Vale wasn’t the only person Derek paid.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Who else?”
“A laboratory administrator from the same fertility clinic.”
“How much?”
“Forty-eight thousand over several years.”
“For what?”
“Unknown.”
“Name?”
“Rachel Dunn.”
Emily gasped.
I looked at her.
“You know her?”
“She was the coordinator assigned to our treatment.”
The room went silent.
Melissa continued.
“There is another payment recipient.”
“Who?”
“A private DNA laboratory.”
I felt cold.
“When?”
“Several payments. The first was six years ago.”
“When Derek learned about the specimen discrepancy.”
“Yes.”
“Did he do a paternity test on Noah?”
“That is one possibility.”
I looked at Emily.
Her face drained.
“He told me he never did.”
Melissa said:
“We don’t know yet.”
“But if he did…”
“Then Derek may have known Noah’s biological paternity for years.”
Emily sat down.
I could see her hands shaking.
“Can we find the result?”
“We’re trying.”
The next morning, we did.
Not through hacking.
Not through the flash drive.
Through records obtained by investigators working with counsel.
A payment invoice carried a case reference.
That reference led to a test ordered six years earlier.
Derek Mercer.
Alleged father.
Noah Carter Mercer.
I stared at the document Melissa showed us on a secure video call.
Emily was beside me.
Neither of us spoke.
Melissa looked serious.
“The laboratory has confirmed a test occurred.”
Emily whispered:
“What was the result?”
“They won’t disclose it informally.”
“Can we get it?”
“With proper authorization or legal process.”
Emily stood.
“I’m his mother.”
“Yes.”
“I authorize it.”
The lab still required verification.
Forms.
Identification.
Procedures.
No instant revelation.
For once, reality refused to move at the pace of our nightmare.
But that afternoon, something else arrived faster.
An envelope.
No return address.
Delivered to Melissa’s office.
Inside were photocopies.
One was Noah’s old paternity report.
Someone had circled the result.
PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY: 99.99%.
Derek was Noah’s biological father.
Emily began crying.
Not because she had wanted Derek to be.
Because eleven years of uncertainty vanished in one line.
Noah was Derek’s.
Derek had known for six years.
He had known.
And still never contacted his son.
Still never sent a birthday card.
Still never asked whether Noah was healthy.
Still never tried to repair what he destroyed.
Emily pressed both hands against her face.
“He knew.”
I put my arm around her.
“He knew.”
But the envelope contained another page.
A laboratory comparison report.
Derek’s verified DNA profile.
This time, the blood type was A positive.
Correct.
The genetic identifier matched the old frozen sperm.
I stared.
“The frozen samples were his.”
Melissa nodded slowly.
“According to this report.”
“But Jessica’s report said they didn’t match.”
“Yes.”
“So which report is real?”
“We don’t know yet.”
I turned to the last page.
A handwritten note.
Four words.
VALE CHANGED THE FIRST RESULT.
My body went cold.
Emily whispered:
“Oh my God.”
If that note was true, the clinic had not simply made a mistake.
Someone had deliberately falsified genetic results.
And Derek had paid the man accused of altering them.
“Why would Derek want his own sperm to appear not to be his?”
I asked.
Melissa looked at the financial documents.
“I don’t know.”
Then she noticed a date.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
She zoomed in.
The falsified comparison report had been created six years earlier.
Three days before Derek purchased a large life-insurance policy.
I stared.
“What does life insurance have to do with fertility?”
Melissa didn’t answer.
Not immediately.
She was reading.
Then:
“The beneficiary wasn’t you.”
My heart stopped.
“Who?”
She clicked another page.
“Larkstone Holdings.”
I stared.
“But Larkstone didn’t exist yet.”
“Not under that name.”
“What?”
“There was a predecessor entity.”
My pulse quickened.
“Owned by who?”
Melissa’s eyes moved across the document.
Then she became very still.
“Sarah.”
“Who?”
“The original beneficiary entity was controlled by Martin Vale.”
Silence swallowed the room.
Nothing made sense anymore.
Derek.
Vale.
False DNA records.
Life insurance.
Hidden companies.
Stolen money.
“What were they doing?”
Emily whispered.
Melissa shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
Then her assistant entered the video frame and handed her a note.
Melissa read it.
Her face changed completely.
“What?”
She looked directly at me.
“Police want to speak with Jessica.”
“Why?”
“They found Martin Vale.”
My stomach tightened.
“Where?”
Melissa hesitated.
“In his home.”
Something in her voice made my skin go cold.
“Is he okay?”
“No.”
My hand went to my stomach.
“What happened?”
“He’s dead.”
Emily gasped.
I couldn’t speak.
“How?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Was he killed?”
“Sarah, we do not know.”
“When?”
“Sometime last night.”
Last night.
After he called me.
After he warned me.
After he told me Derek knew.
My phone suddenly felt heavy in my hand.
“He called me hours before he died.”
“I know.”
“Do police know?”
“They will.”
“What does that mean for Derek?”
“Nothing until there is evidence.”
“But Derek was paying him.”
“That is relevant.”
My phone buzzed.
A new message.
From Derek.
One sentence.
I stared at it.
Melissa saw my expression.
“What?”
I showed the screen to Emily.
Then read it aloud.
You should have listened when I told you to stop talking to Vale.
The room went silent.
Melissa’s voice sharpened through the laptop.
“Do not respond.”
I didn’t.
Another message arrived.
You’ve put yourself in something you don’t understand.
Then another.
Think about the babies.
My blood turned to ice.
Emily stood.
“That’s a threat.”
Melissa was already speaking to someone off-screen.
“Screenshot everything. Do not delete anything.”
I did.
Then Derek sent one final photograph.
It was me.
Taken that morning.
Standing outside Dr. Evans’s clinic.
I stared at myself in the image.
The photograph had been taken from across the parking lot.
Someone had been watching me.
Underneath it, Derek wrote:
Come home.
Alone.
And I’ll explain everything.
Emily whispered:
“Absolutely not.”
I looked at the photograph.
Then at my babies’ ultrasound pictures sitting beside the laptop.
For months, Derek believed fear would control every decision I made.
Fear of losing him.
Fear of being alone.
Fear of public humiliation.
Fear of raising children without him.
But he had misunderstood one thing.
I wasn’t protecting a marriage anymore.
I was protecting my children.
I forwarded the messages to Melissa.
She contacted law enforcement.
Within an hour, officers were taking a report.
Derek’s location was unknown.
His company badge had been disabled.
His office laptop had been seized for review.
Jessica was with her attorney.
Linda claimed she had not heard from him.
Then, just before sunset, investigators found Derek’s car.
Abandoned.
Not at Jessica’s condo.
Not at his office.
Not at our house.
At the Raleigh fertility clinic where everything had begun eleven years earlier.
The clinic had been closed for hours.
But a rear door was unlocked.
Security cameras showed a man entering at 4:38 p.m.
He wore a baseball cap.
His face was partially obscured.
But his height.
His build.
His walk.
I recognized all of it.
Derek.
At 5:07, the interior cameras stopped recording.
At 5:22, smoke alarms activated in the records wing.
Firefighters arrived before the flames spread beyond one storage room.
A storage room containing archived patient files.
By the time police searched the building, Derek was gone.
But not everything burned.
Inside a fire-resistant cabinet, investigators found a stack of files.
One of them carried Derek’s name.
Another carried Noah’s.
And a third…
carried mine.
I stared at Melissa when she told me.
“My name?”
“Yes.”
“But I was never a patient there.”
“That’s what makes it unusual.”
“What was in it?”
“Police haven’t released the full contents.”
“Then what do we know?”
Melissa hesitated.
“One page was visible when the file was inventoried.”
“What page?”
“A genetic screening request.”
My mouth went dry.
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Seven years ago.”
I stopped breathing.
Seven years.
A year after Derek and I married.
Long before I became pregnant.
“I never had genetic testing.”
“I know.”
“Then why does that clinic have a file with my name?”
“We don’t know.”
My skin prickled.
“Who requested it?”
Melissa looked directly at me.
“Derek.”
I felt the room disappear.
He had been collecting reproductive information about me seven years ago.
Before the affair I knew about.
Before the vasectomy.
Before the twins.
Before any excuse existed.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she added:
“But there was a second name on the request.”
“Whose?”
She paused.
“Martin Vale.”
I sat in silence.
The dead embryologist.
My husband.
My genetics.
Hidden for seven years.
And suddenly, the question was no longer simply why Derek had tried so desperately to avoid becoming a father.
It was why he had been studying whether I could become a mother long before I ever knew fertility was a problem.
That night, Dr. Evans called me one final time.
Her voice was careful.
“Sarah, investigators asked our office to verify part of your medical history.”
My pulse quickened.
“What part?”
“Whether you ever underwent fertility testing through that Raleigh clinic.”
“I didn’t.”
“That’s what our records suggest.”
“So why is there a genetic request under my name?”
“I don’t know.”
Then she said:
“But there is something you should remember.”
“What?”
“When you first became my patient, you transferred records from your previous primary-care doctor.”
“Yes.”
“One of those records included routine bloodwork from seven years ago.”
My heartbeat slowed.
“And?”
“The date is the same week as the genetic screening request.”
I stared.
“Are you saying someone could have used my blood?”
“I’m saying a blood sample existed.”
My hand shook.
“Could Derek have gotten access to it?”
“I cannot answer that.”
But I already knew what kind of man I was dealing with.
One who lied.
One who planned.
One who paid people.
One who believed records could be altered if enough money moved through enough hands.
The next morning, police found Derek.
He hadn’t fled the state.
He hadn’t crossed the border.
He had gone somewhere far stranger.
To Linda’s house.
His mother had found him asleep in his childhood bedroom just after dawn.
She called the police herself.
When officers arrived, Derek did not resist.
He was taken in for questioning regarding the clinic fire, financial records, and threats he had sent me.
He had not yet been charged with Vale’s death.
No one knew whether Vale had died naturally, accidentally, or because of someone else.
But Derek’s world was collapsing.
His company.
His money.
Jessica.
His mother.
His marriage.
Everything.
And yet, one mystery remained.
My file.
The genetic request.
Seven years earlier.
Why had Derek and Vale wanted my DNA?
Three days later, Melissa called.
“I think we finally know.”
My heart pounded.
“Know what?”
“Why your name was in the clinic records.”
I sat down.
Emily was beside me.
Noah was at school.
“Tell me.”
“The genetic screening request wasn’t a fertility test.”
“What was it?”
“A compatibility screen.”
I frowned.
“Compatibility for what?”
Melissa’s expression on the video call became grave.
“Embryo matching.”
I stared.
“I don’t understand.”
“The clinic was testing whether your genetic profile matched another person’s.”
“Whose?”
Melissa hesitated.
“Derek’s.”
I stopped breathing.
“Why?”
“That isn’t the shocking part.”
“What is?”
“The test did not ask whether you and Derek were compatible as reproductive partners.”
My skin prickled.
“What did it ask?”
Melissa looked at the paperwork.
“It asked whether you were genetically related.”
The room went silent.
Emily whispered:
“What?”
I couldn’t speak.
Melissa continued carefully.
“The test was designed to exclude a close biological relationship before reproductive material was used.”
I stared at her.
“Why would they think Derek and I were related?”
“I don’t know.”
My stomach turned.
“That’s impossible.”
“Probably.”
“Probably?”
“Sarah, the request existed for a reason.”
“What was the result?”
Melissa looked at me.
“That page survived too.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“And?”
“You and Derek were not closely biologically related.”
I exhaled so hard it hurt.
“Then why test?”
“That is what we need to understand.”
Emily looked horrified.
“Who ordered this?”
“Vale signed it.”
“And Derek?”
“Authorized it.”
I covered my face.
For seven years, my husband had hidden a genetic test proving we were not related.
Why would anyone need that?
Then Melissa said:
“There’s a handwritten reference number on the form.”
“What does it connect to?”
“Another patient file.”
My heart began pounding again.
“Whose?”
Melissa paused.
“The file investigators recovered was badly damaged.”
“Name?”
“Only part of it survived.”
“What part?”
“A first name.”
I waited.
Melissa looked directly at me.
“Sarah, the first name was your mother’s.”
My entire body went still.
No.
No.
That couldn’t be possible.
My mother had died when I was twenty-one.
She had never met Derek.
She had never been treated at a clinic in Raleigh.
At least not that I knew.
“What was the name?”
I whispered.
Melissa told me.
It was her.
There was no coincidence.
No second woman with some vaguely similar name.
My mother’s full first and middle name.
Printed on a fertility-clinic record dated thirty years earlier.
Long before Derek.
Long before Noah.
Long before Jessica.
I stared at the screen while one terrible possibility formed inside my mind.
Derek’s secret didn’t begin three years before he met me.
It didn’t begin with Emily.
It didn’t begin with Noah.
It didn’t even begin with his fertility injury.
Whatever Derek had discovered…
it began before either of us was old enough to understand where babies came from.
And somewhere inside that partially burned clinic file was a connection between Derek, my mother, and the reproductive records he had spent years paying Martin Vale to hide.
Melissa looked at me.
“There’s one more surviving line.”
I could barely speak.
“What?”
She read it carefully.
“Original donor case cross-reference.”
My heart pounded.
“Donor?”
“Yes.”
“Whose donor?”
“The number points to another archived case.”
She paused.
“A case opened the year Derek was born.”
I stopped breathing.
And in that moment, every question I had asked since seeing two pink lines changed.
Maybe Derek had known something about his own biological history.
Maybe the frozen sperm scandal was never random.
Maybe Noah’s paternity test had exposed more than fatherhood.
Maybe that was why Derek paid Vale.
Maybe that was why he wanted the clinic records destroyed.
And maybe that was why, after years of insisting he didn’t want children, Derek had become terrified the moment I became pregnant.
Not because he believed the twins weren’t his.
Because somewhere deep inside those records…
he knew exactly what their DNA might reveal.
I placed both hands over my stomach.
Two babies.
Two heartbeats.
And one final secret connecting them to a story that had begun decades before I ever met their father……………
TO BE CONTINUED IN LAST PART…
