Chapter 4
For ten seconds, nobody spoke.
I stared at the photograph until the words blurred.
DAMON ISN'T FATHER.
Dad took my phone.
“This is garbage.”
Detective Sloan didn't dismiss it.
“Claire, is there any possibility Damon isn't the biological father?”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
“I've never been with anyone else.”
Dad looked toward Sloan.
“There. Done.”
But I couldn't stop staring at the ultrasound.
It had been taken during my twenty-week appointment.
I remembered Damon sitting beside me.
He cried when we heard our daughter's heartbeat.
At least I thought he had.
“Why would Elaine say this?”
Sloan answered quietly.
“To frighten you. Or because Damon told her something.”
My phone rang.
Elaine again.
This time Detective Sloan asked permission to record.
I nodded.
Then I answered.
“What are you talking about?”
Elaine didn't sound angry anymore.
She sounded almost pleased.
“I warned Damon that marrying you was a mistake.”
“Answer me.”
“The baby isn't his.”
“Yes, she is.”
“You're very sure.”
“I know who I've slept with.”
Elaine laughed softly.
“That isn't what I'm talking about.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
Dad leaned closer.
“What are you saying?”
Elaine paused.
Then she said, “Ask your husband about the clinic.”
The call ended.
I looked at Sloan.
“What clinic?”
She was already writing.
“Did you use fertility treatment?”
“No.”
Dad shook his head.
“They conceived naturally.”
I suddenly remembered something.
Early in my pregnancy, Damon had insisted we change obstetricians.
He said the first doctor was too far away.
He handled the paperwork.
He scheduled every appointment.
When I started asking questions, he called me controlling.
“Wait.”
Everyone looked at me.
“Before I knew I was pregnant, Damon took me to a wellness clinic.”
Dad frowned.
“For what?”
“He said it was for vitamin injections. We had been trying for a baby.”
Sloan's expression changed.
“Did you receive any injections?”
“Yes.”
“How many?”
“Two. Maybe three.”
“Do you remember the clinic name?”
“No.”
She asked me to check old emails.
I searched.
Nothing.
Then my deleted folder.
There it was.
A confirmation email Damon must have deleted.
Riverside Reproductive Health.
My chest tightened.
“This isn't a wellness clinic.”
Sloan took the phone.
“No.”
Dad looked furious.
“Why would he lie?”
We found another email.
And another.
Most had been deleted.
One subject line stopped me cold.
DONOR MATERIAL CONSENT.
I opened it.
The attachment wouldn't load.
Detective Sloan photographed everything.
“I never consented to a donor.”
Dad's voice turned dangerous.
“What did he do?”
The doctor stepped closer.
“Claire, there are legitimate reasons couples use donor material. But informed consent is required.”
“I didn't agree.”
My stomach twisted.
Suddenly Damon's strange behavior during the first months made sense.
His obsession with my appointments.
His refusal to let me speak privately with doctors.
His insistence that he manage every document.
“Can you find out what happened?”
Sloan nodded.
“With your permission, yes.”
I gave it immediately.
The hospital kept me overnight.
Dad refused to leave.
At midnight, Detective Ramirez returned.
He carried photographs from the storage unit.
They had found my mother's jewelry.
Copies of my financial records.
Fake signatures.
A suitcase filled with cash.
And the second crib.
But that wasn't what made Ramirez return so late.
He placed one photograph on my blanket.
A wall inside the storage unit was covered with printed photographs of me.
Some were taken outside grocery stores.
Some outside my doctor's office.
Some while I was walking alone.
Dates were written beneath them.
Six months of surveillance.
Dad stared at the pictures.
“Who took these?”
“We're investigating.”
Ramirez placed another photograph beside the first.
This one showed a notebook.
Damon's handwriting filled the pages.
He had written schedules.
Medication times.
Doctor appointments.
And notes about my moods.
One line had been circled.
After delivery, establish instability.
Another read:
Emergency guardianship.
My hand flew to my stomach.
“He was going to take my baby.”
Ramirez didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
Dad stood beside the bed.
“He wanted Claire declared unstable so he could control the child and her assets.”
“That appears possible.”
I looked at the last photograph.
The final page of Damon's notebook contained a name.
Not mine.
Not Lacey's.
Not Elaine's.
A man's name.
Dr. Stephen Vale.
I recognized it.
He was the doctor who gave me the injections.
May you like
Under his name, Damon had written one sentence.
Payment complete after successful birth.
