Chapter 3 - THREE HEARTBEATS, THREE SECRETS|
The emergency department smelled of antiseptic and wet wool.
I lay on a hospital bed while a nurse attached monitors to my abdomen. The three familiar heartbeats filled the room, fast and uneven through the speakers.
I'd listened to those sounds at every prenatal appointment.
Until that morning, they had been the most beautiful sounds in the world.
Now I couldn't hear them without remembering Harrison's voice.
Harper gets her baby. Madison gets hers. Audrey's family gets the third.
A physician examined me, asked about the pain, and ordered additional monitoring. She explained that stress could contribute to discomfort but that severe abdominal pain during a high-risk pregnancy required careful evaluation.
Harrison stood beside the bed, playing the devoted husband.
"She's been under a lot of pressure," he told the doctor. "She heard something at lunch and became upset."
"What did she hear?" the physician asked.
"Some business discussion she misunderstood."
I looked at him.
"Did I misunderstand the part about three women?"
His expression tightened.
The doctor glanced between us.
"Mr. Whitmore, I need to speak with your wife privately."
Harrison's smile disappeared.
"I'm her husband."
"And I'm her physician right now. I need a few minutes alone with her."
For several seconds, I thought he might refuse.
Then he kissed my forehead.
"I'll be right outside, sweetheart."
The door closed behind him.
The physician pulled a chair beside the bed.
"I'm Dr. Patel. I want you to tell me what happened, in your own words."
So I did.
I told her about the lunch, the conversation, the three women, and the message on Harrison's phone. I explained that our IVF treatment had been managed through a private clinic recommended by my husband. He had insisted on handling the paperwork because he claimed the insurance arrangements were complicated.
Dr. Patel listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she asked, "Do you have copies of your fertility treatment records?"
"Some. Harrison kept the complete file."
"Do you remember signing consent forms?"
"Yes. But he told me they were standard forms. He said everything had been explained during the consultation."
"Did you personally meet with the embryologist who handled your treatment?"
I tried to remember.
There had been an initial appointment with a specialist. After that, most of the conversations took place through Harrison or over video calls. The clinic had sent me medication schedules and appointment reminders, but many of the technical details had been handled by his assistant.
"I don't think I ever met the embryologist in person."
Dr. Patel exchanged a glance with the nurse.
"That doesn't establish what happened, but it gives us questions that need answers."
She checked my monitors again.
"Right now, we're focused on you and the babies. We'll continue monitoring you and consult maternal-fetal medicine. I also recommend that you contact an independent fertility specialist and obtain your records directly from the clinic."
I nodded, struggling to keep my breathing steady.
"Can you tell whether the babies are mine?"
"Not from the monitoring we're doing today. Genetic parentage requires appropriate testing, and any testing involving the babies should be discussed with specialists who can explain the medical and legal implications. We won't make assumptions based on what your husband said."
The answer was careful.
It was also the first honest answer I'd heard all morning.
A nurse brought me water. Dr. Patel explained the warning signs that would require immediate attention and arranged for me to remain under observation.
Then she asked a question I hadn't considered.
"Do you feel safe going home with your husband?"
I stared at the ceiling.
Harrison had never struck me. He had never threatened to hurt me physically. But he'd arranged a medical procedure involving my body without my informed consent, if what I'd heard was true. He'd laughed about taking the babies away. And when I discovered the secret, his first concern had been that I wasn't supposed to know.
"I don't know," I admitted.
Dr. Patel nodded.
"You don't have to decide everything today. We can connect you with a hospital social worker and help you consider your options."
When Harrison was finally allowed back into the room, he carried a bouquet of white roses.
He placed them on the bedside table.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I don't know my own husband."
His expression softened.
"Chloe, I know what you heard sounded terrible."
"Then tell me it wasn't true."
He sat beside me.
"The situation is complicated."
"Are the babies genetically mine?"
He looked down.
"You're carrying them."
"That wasn't my question."
He rubbed his forehead.
"The embryos were created under unusual circumstances. There were donors involved."
"Donors?"
"People who wanted children and needed help."
I felt as though the air had vanished.
"You knew?"
"Yes."
"You let me believe we were using our embryos."
"I thought the pregnancy would bring us together."
"How could lying to me about the children I was carrying bring us together?"
His voice hardened.
"Because I knew you'd refuse if I told you everything."
I turned my face away.
There it was.
Not an accident.
Not a misunderstanding.
A decision.
He had known that I would say no, so he had removed my ability to choose.
"Who are the women?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"Harper, Madison, and Audrey."
"Audrey is dead?"
He said nothing.
"How long have you been planning this?"
"Chloe, you need to rest."
"How long?"
His eyes hardened.
"Long enough to make sure everything was arranged properly."
I stared at him in disbelief.
He reached for my hand.
I pulled it away.
For the first time in our marriage, Harrison looked genuinely uncertain.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen and stood.
"I have to take this."
"Who is it?"
"Someone handling the arrangements."
"What arrangements?"
He didn't answer.
He stepped into the hallway and closed the door.
Through the narrow gap, I heard his voice.
"No. She hasn't signed anything new yet."
A pause.
"Then get the documents ready before she leaves the hospital."
My blood turned cold.
May you like
Whatever Harrison had planned, the pregnancy was only one part of it.
And he was preparing the next move before I had even left the hospital bed.
