My heart started racing.

“Where are you?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Why?”

“Because Julian is looking for me.”

I stood.

“What happened?”

“I know what his family is planning.”

“What?”

There was a pause.

Then Sophie said:

“Claire, the baby isn’t Julian’s.”

I stopped breathing.

“What?”

“The baby isn’t his.”

“But you told everyone—”

“I was told to say it was.”

“By whom?”

“Helga.”

I sat back down.

“Why?”

“Because they needed a reason to get close to you.”

My hands began to shake.

“Close to me for what?”

Sophie started crying.

“For your money.”

I closed my eyes.

“I know.”

“No, Claire.”

Her voice became urgent.

“You don’t know the worst part.”

“What?”

“I didn’t get pregnant naturally.”

My heart pounded.

“What are you saying?”

“I was given an embryo.”

I couldn’t speak.

“Whose embryo?”

Silence.

Then she whispered:

“Yours.”

My entire body went cold.

“What?”

“The embryo they transferred into me…”

Her voice broke.

“It was yours and Julian’s.”

I stood so quickly that the chair fell backward.

“No.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No.”

“Claire, listen to me.”

“You’re lying.”

“I wish I were.”

“You’re lying!”

“Julian had your embryo transferred to me.”

I couldn’t breathe.

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I think…”

She hesitated.

“I think they wanted your child.”

I stared at the wall.

My child.

The child I had spent six years desperately trying to have.

The child I had cried for.

The child I had prayed for.

The child I thought my body had failed to create.

Was growing inside another woman.

Then Sophie said the words that changed everything.

“Claire…”

“Yes?”

“The baby is yours.”

My knees nearly gave out.

And then she added:

“But Helga has already prepared the paperwork to make sure you never get custody.”

The phone slipped from my hand.

I stared at the dark floor.

For ten years, I had thought I was fighting to save my marriage.

I finally understood.

I wasn’t.

I was fighting to get my life back.

And somewhere inside that fight was a child who had been taken from me before I even knew I had one.

PART 5

For several seconds, I couldn’t move.

Sophie was still speaking through the phone, but her words sounded distant.

“The transfer was done at a private clinic,” she whispered. “Julian arranged everything.”

I forced myself to breathe.

“Tell me everything.”

“I don’t know everything.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

She began crying.

“I was desperate. I owed money. Helga approached me months ago and said Julian wanted to help me. She said I could have a child and that the family would take care of me.”

“And you agreed?”

“I thought it was his child.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Then how did you find out?”

“I found paperwork.”

“What paperwork?”

“Embryology records. Your name was on them.”

My heart pounded.

“Where are they?”

“I have copies.”

“Where?”

“I hid them.”

“Why didn’t you go to the police?”

“Because Helga threatened me.”

“With what?”

“She said she could destroy me financially. She knew about my debts. She knew about my family.”

I closed my eyes.

“What does Julian know?”

“He knows I found out.”

“And that’s why you’re hiding?”

“Yes.”

I gripped the phone.

“Sophie, where are you?”

She hesitated.

Then she gave me an address.

“Come alone.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You don’t know me well enough to trust that I’ll come alone.”

“Then who should come?”

“My lawyer.”

“No.”

“Sophie.”

“I can’t trust lawyers.”

“You can trust mine.”

Silence.

Finally, she whispered, “Tomorrow. Ten in the morning.”

Then the line went dead.

I stared at my phone.

At 3:02 a.m., I called Daniel.

He answered immediately.

“Claire?”

“Sophie says the embryo was mine.”

Silence.

Then:

“Are you sure?”

“She says she has records.”

“Don’t meet her alone.”

“I know.”

“I’ll arrange for someone to accompany you.”

“Daniel?”

“Yes?”

“If this is true…”

My voice broke.

“What happens to the baby?”

He didn’t answer immediately.

“That’s what we’re going to find out.”

The next morning, Daniel and I went to the address Sophie had given me.

It was a small apartment building on the outskirts of Baltimore.

Sophie opened the door only after checking the hallway twice.

She looked completely different from the woman in the photographs.

Pale.

Exhausted.

Terrified.

She stepped aside.

“Come in.”

I entered.

Daniel followed.

Sophie locked the door.

Then she looked at me.

“I am sorry.”

I didn’t know what to say.

She looked down.

“I didn’t know.”

“I believe you.”

She began crying.

“I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know.”

She walked to a cabinet and pulled out a plastic folder.

“These are copies.”

She placed them on the table.

Daniel opened the first page.

His expression changed.

He looked at me.

“This is an embryology report.”

I couldn’t look away.

My name.

My date of birth.

My medical record number.

The embryo identification code.

And the transfer date.

I remembered that day.

Six years earlier.

Julian had driven me to the clinic.

He had told me everything was going perfectly.

The doctor had said the transfer would happen that afternoon.

Then, hours later, Julian told me there had been a complication.

The clinic had canceled the procedure.

I had cried in the car.

He had held me.

He had told me we would try again.

But the document in front of me said the embryo had been transferred.

Not to me.

To Sophie.

My own husband had taken the child we had created together and given it to another woman.