Chapter 3 - HARBOR RIDGE Seven years earlier, Emily and I had wanted a child more than anything.
We spent nearly a year at Harbor Ridge Fertility Center.
Appointments became routines.
Blood tests.
Ultrasounds.
Medication.
Consent forms.
Waiting rooms.
Hope.
Disappointment.
Hope again.
Eventually, eight embryos were created.
One transfer failed.
Two embryos were deemed nonviable.
Five were frozen.
Then Emily developed a medical complication.
Everything stopped.
Three years later, we returned.
The clinic told us four viable embryos remained.
One had supposedly been lost during a storage transfer.
We accepted the explanation.
We had no reason not to.
One frozen embryo eventually became Lily.
Three remained.
At least that was what the records said.
Now, six years old, Sophie was suddenly standing in the middle of our lives.
And her mother's name appeared in our old clinic records.
I searched my archived emails.
There it was.
Caroline Mercer.
Years earlier, she had been connected to Harbor Ridge as a patient-services coordinator.
Later, she had become a patient herself.
She had received a donor embryo.
Or so she believed.
Emily read the old correspondence beside me.
One email stopped us both.
Caroline had questioned whether the embryo transferred to her actually matched the donor records.
Another email asked the clinic to prove that the genetic parents had legally authorized the donation.
The clinic responded that the matter was an internal administrative issue.
No action was required.
Then Caroline disappeared from the correspondence.
Fourteen months earlier, she had died in a highway accident.
Emily slowly lowered the laptop.
“If Sophie is her daughter…”
“She could be.”
“And if the clinic used one of our embryos…”
I looked toward the hallway.
“Then we have a daughter we never knew existed.”
Neither of us was ready to say the rest.
May you like
Because there was only one way to know.
DNA.
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