Chapter 4: The Question of Paternity
The word *paternity* sat on my phone screen like a threat.
I read the subject line again.
*We need to talk about paternity.*
My hands went cold.
My father noticed before I said anything.
“What is it?””
I turned the phone toward him.
He read the screen.
For several seconds, he didn't move.
Then his jaw tightened.
“Don't answer.””
“I wasn't going to.””
“You're shaking.””
“I know.””
The nurse was still standing beside my bed, checking the monitor.
“Is something wrong?””
My father looked at her.
“Her husband just sent her something disturbing.””
The nurse glanced at my phone.
“You don't have to respond to him right now.””
I nodded.
But my mind had already gone somewhere else.
Thirty-two weeks.
One baby.
One father.
One marriage I had spent nearly two years trying to save.
And now Eric was questioning whether the child I carried was his.
I pressed my palm over my stomach.
The baby moved beneath my hand.
A small, deliberate kick.
My eyes filled with tears.
“Are you okay?”” the nurse asked.
“I don't know.””
She gave me a sympathetic look.
“Your baby is still moving. That's good.””
I nodded.
But the question wouldn't leave my mind.
Why would Eric send that now?
After leaving me on the road?
After trying to get into the hospital?
After my father changed the locks?
Unless he knew something.
Something he had been saving.
Something he thought would give him power over me.
My phone buzzed again.
Another email.
*Eric Bennett: Please don't panic.*
I stared at it.
My father noticed.
“Don't open anything else.””
“I need to know what he's talking about.””
“No, you need to rest.””
“What if he knows something?””
“Then he'll have to explain it to you in front of other people.””
My father took the phone from my hand.
“I'll save everything.””
“Dad, give it back.””
He hesitated.
Then handed it over.
Another message appeared.
*Eric: You have no idea what I've discovered.*
I felt a wave of nausea.
I typed before I could stop myself.
*Claire: What are you talking about?*
My father immediately said, “Claire.””
“I need an answer.””
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Finally:
*Eric: Ask your father where you were the night of October 14 two years ago.*
My heart stopped.
I stared at the screen.
October 14.
Two years ago.
I remembered that night.
At least I thought I did.
I'd been at home.
Or had I?
My father saw my expression.
“What?””
I swallowed.
“October 14.””
His face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Enough for me to notice.
“You remember it?””
“Yes.””
He looked away.
“Why?””
“Eric told me to ask you where I was.””
My father's eyes returned to mine.
“Don't answer him again.””
“Why?””
“Because he's trying to confuse you.””
“Dad, you know something.””
“I know that Eric has been lying to you for a long time.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
He stood.
“I need to make a phone call.””
“Dad.””
He stopped.
“Where was I?””
His expression softened.
“You were with me.””
My pulse quickened.
“Where?””
He didn't answer.
“You're my father. Why can't you tell me?””
“Because you were going through something terrible.””
“What was I going through?””
My father rubbed a hand over his face.
“Your first miscarriage.””
The room went silent.
I looked at him.
“I never had a miscarriage.””
He said nothing.
My lips parted.
“What?””
“You did.””
“No.””
“You were six weeks pregnant.””
I shook my head.
“No. I wasn't.””
My father sat again.
“Claire…”
“Eric told me I was sick.””
“I know.””
“He said the doctor told me there was no pregnancy.””
My father closed his eyes.
“That was a lie.””
The memory came back in pieces.
A bathroom floor.
Blood.
Pain.
Eric standing in the doorway.
His face expressionless.
His words.
It's over. There was never a baby.
I had believed him.
For two years, I'd believed that.
My father reached for my hand.
“I took you to the emergency room that night.””
I stared at him.
“Why don't I remember?””
“You were sedated.””
“Why didn't you tell me?””
“I tried.””
My father's voice cracked.
“Eric wouldn't let you speak to me alone for months afterward.””
I felt as though the walls were moving.
“Dad…”
“I thought you'd leave him once you knew.””
“But I didn't.””
“No.””
“Why?””
“Because he convinced you I was trying to destroy your marriage.””
I covered my mouth.
Memory after memory came flooding back.
Eric telling me my father hated him.
Eric saying my father was controlling.
Eric telling me I was too emotional.
Eric telling me I couldn't trust anyone who questioned him.
The baby kicked again.
I looked down.
“So what does the miscarriage have to do with this baby?””
My father was quiet.
“I don't know.””
The monitor beeped steadily.
Then the door opened.
A woman in a dark green coat stood in the doorway.
My father immediately stood.
“Who are you?””
She looked at me.
“My name is Rachel Collins.””
“Do I know you?””
“No.””
She held up a folder.
“But you should.””
My father moved in front of me.
“Whatever you're selling, we're not interested.””
“I'm not selling anything.””
Rachel looked at me.
“I worked at the fertility clinic Eric visited last year.””
My blood ran cold.
“What?””
My father stared at her.
“What clinic?””
She stepped inside and shut the door.
“The clinic where your husband had his fertility testing done.””
My throat tightened.
“Why would Eric get fertility testing?””
Rachel put the folder on the table.
“He was told he had an extremely low sperm count.””
I looked at my father.
Then back at her.
“Are you saying Eric can't have children?””
“I'm saying his doctor documented severe male-factor infertility.””
My heart pounded.
“But I'm pregnant.””
“Yes.””
“Then how…”
Rachel opened the folder.
“That's what Eric is afraid of.””
I stared at the papers.
There were medical notes.
Dates.
Test results.
I could barely make sense of the terminology.
“What happened?”” I whispered.
Rachel hesitated.
“Eric didn't conceive this baby naturally.””
My father stepped closer.
“Then who did?””
Rachel looked at me.
“He used donor sperm.””
The room tilted.
I grabbed the side of my bed.
“No.””
“Claire—”
“No.””
Rachel's voice remained calm.
“You underwent treatment at the same clinic.””
I shook my head.
“I never did.””
“You may not remember it that way.””
My father looked confused.
“What are you saying?””
Rachel turned a page.
“There was a treatment appointment under Claire Bennett's name eleven months ago.””
My heart hammered.
“Eleven months…”
“That would have been shortly before your pregnancy began.””
“I wasn't at a fertility clinic.””
Rachel looked down.
“Then someone used your identity.””
My father went rigid.
“Who had access to her medical information?””
Rachel looked at me.
“Your husband.””
I closed my eyes.
Pieces clicked together.
The sudden insistence that I start taking vitamins.
The appointment he arranged with a new doctor.
The time he told me he had picked up medication for me.
The weeks when I felt strangely exhausted.
The day he came home smiling and told me, Maybe we're finally getting our miracle.
I had thought it was my miracle.
Maybe it had never belonged to me at all.
“Why would he do this?”” I whispered.
Rachel answered quietly.
“Because he wanted a child very badly.””
“And because he knew he couldn't father one.””
My father's expression darkened.
“Then why is he questioning paternity?””
Rachel looked at him.
“Because there was another problem.””
She pulled out one final page.
“His donor consent doesn't match the genetic material listed in the file.””
My stomach dropped.
“What does that mean?””
“It means the sperm used in the procedure may not have come from the donor identified on the paperwork.””
My father's face hardened.
“Whose did it come from?””
Rachel shook her head.
“We don't know.””
I looked at her.
“You came here to tell me this. Why?””
“Because someone accessed your file last week.””
“Who?””
“Your husband.””
That answer was almost a whisper.
I stared at the folder.
“He was trying to find out who the biological father is.””
Rachel nodded.
“And based on what he said when he called the clinic…”
She stopped.
“What?””
“He believes he knows.””
My heart began pounding.
“What did he say?””
Rachel looked uncomfortable.
“He said the donor wasn't a stranger.””
The room seemed suddenly silent.
My father asked, “Then who was it?””
Rachel took a breath.
“He said the clinic records would eventually lead back to someone Claire knew.””
I looked at my father.
He wasn't looking at Rachel anymore.
He was staring at me.
And there was something in his expression that terrified me more than Eric's emails.
Recognition.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“Dad?””
He didn't answer.
“Dad, what is she talking about?””
His lips parted.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen.
His face went completely pale.
“What is it?”” I asked.
He answered.
“Hello?””
A man's voice came through the speaker.
My father listened.
His eyes slowly lifted toward me.
“What happened?”” I whispered.
He ended the call.
Then he looked at the door.
“Your house was broken into.””
My blood ran cold.
“By Eric?””
My father shook his head.
“They didn't take anything.””
“Then what did they do?””
He looked at the folder on my tray.
“They took every document related to your pregnancy.””
I felt the baby move again.
Hard.
Suddenly, another message appeared on my phone.
This time, there was no email address.
Only an unknown number.
*Eric: Now you understand why I left you.*
A second message followed.
*Eric: The baby isn't mine.*
May you like
Then the third arrived.
*Eric: And your father knows exactly who the real father is.*
