Chapter 22
A chill moved through me.
“Ryan knows about the flash drive.”
“Perhaps.”
“Or his mother does.”
“Perhaps.”
“What if they put it there?”
“Then they wanted you to find it.”
“Why?”
“To make you doubt your child’s father?”
The possibility hurt more than I expected.
After all the years of being blamed for infertility, the idea that Ryan might now try to make me question my pregnancy felt like another attempt to take ownership of my body.
“I won’t let him do that,” I said.
“You don’t have to.”
“I am not going to spend the rest of my life wondering if my child belongs to a man who abandoned us.”
“You can have a test when you’re ready.”
I looked at him.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
“Why are you being kind to me?”
His expression softened.
“Because you need kindness.”
“That isn’t the whole answer.”
“No.”
He looked down at his hands.
“My sister trusted the wrong person. I spent years believing she had simply been unlucky. Then I learned that much of what happened to her had been arranged by people who considered reputation more important than truth.”
He lifted his eyes to mine.
“I don’t want to become another person who takes decisions away from you because I think I know what is best.”
The answer settled inside me with unexpected warmth.
I opened the file.
A scanned laboratory report appeared.
Patient: Claire Morgan.
The test had been performed nine years earlier, shortly before her death.
The results were not a paternity test. They were genetic carrier screenings and fertility assessments.
I released a breath I had not realized I was holding.
The next file was a letter from the doctor.
Mr. Hart,
As discussed, Ms. Morgan’s treatment will remain confidential. However, your continued failure to provide the requested genetic history makes it impossible to complete the recommended testing.
The letter was signed by Dr. Helen Voss.
I read it again.
“Ryan withheld his medical history,” I said.
Ethan leaned closer.
“From Claire?”
“Apparently.”
The next document was dated two months after Claire’s death.
It was a private laboratory request for male fertility testing.
The patient name had been obscured, but the initials remained.
R.H.
The results were clear.
Severe male-factor infertility.
I stared at the page.
For a long time, neither of us spoke.
The room seemed filled with the echoes of every doctor’s appointment, every accusation, every night Ryan had turned away from me.