Chapter 5
I changed clothes.
She drew blood.
Then she prepared the ultrasound equipment.
“This may be early,” she warned. “We may not see much.”
I stared at the ceiling.
“I don't know what I'm supposed to hope for.”
“You don't have to hope for anything right now.”
The screen flickered.
Rachel became quiet.
Too quiet.
I looked at her.
“What?”
She adjusted the wand.
Her eyebrows rose.
“Rachel.”
“One second.”
My heart began pounding.
“What is it?”
She leaned closer to the screen.
“One.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“Two.”
My breath stopped.
“Rachel.”
“Three.”
I grabbed the edge of the table.
She moved slightly.
Then went perfectly still.
“Oh my God.”
“What?”
She turned toward me.
Rachel Monroe, who once calmly treated a woman who went into labor in an elevator, looked stunned.
“Four.”
I stared at her.
“Four what?”
Her eyes filled.
“Babies.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No, Rachel.”
“Evelyn.”
“That's not possible.”
She gave a disbelieving little laugh.
“I can literally see them.”
I turned toward the screen.
Four tiny beginnings.
Four flickering promises.
Four lives.
Julian's.
My hand covered my mouth.
Rachel gripped my fingers.
I began to cry.
Not from grief.
Not entirely from joy.
From the impossible size of what had happened.
Twenty-four hours earlier, Charles Whitmore had paid me to remove myself from the Whitmore bloodline.
Now four more Whitmore grandchildren were growing inside me.
Rachel squeezed my hand.
“Does Julian know you were late?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell him?”
I stared at the four small shapes on the monitor.
Then I remembered Julian turning away from me because Vanessa cried.
I remembered Margaret saying three boys as though she'd announced the winning numbers.
I remembered Charles pushing the check toward me.
I remembered asking my husband to tell me not to sign.
And his silence.
“No,” I said.
Rachel studied me.
“Not now?”
I shook my head.
“No. Not now.”
That answer would eventually become almost two years.
PART 1 — They Paid Me Twelve Million Dollars to Disappear
For the first three weeks after the divorce agreement, Julian called every day.
I didn't answer.
He sent messages instead.
Please tell me you're safe.
I never wanted my father to handle it that way.
I'm sorry.
Can we talk?
Then:
I know I don't deserve a response.
And finally:
I hope wherever you are, you're okay.
I read every message.