Chapter 3: What the Lawyer Already Knew
"Tell me now," I said.
"Not tonight.
Not when you're ready.
Now."
Brandon looked at the door, then back at me.
He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down.
Not in the window this time.
Right next to us.
"Two days ago, while you were sleeping, I went through some of my mother's old emails." He stopped.
"The ones she forwarded to me when we were doing the IVF.
The ones with the clinic information."
"I remember those."
"There was one I didn't open at the time.
I thought it was just another article she'd found." He rubbed the back of his neck.
"It wasn't an article."
Noah shifted against me.
I kept my hand on his back.
"It was a message from a doctor.
Not our doctor.
A private consultant she'd hired.
She paid him to review your file after the first round failed." Brandon's voice stayed flat, like he was working to keep it that way.
"He gave her a written opinion.
She never told you.
She never told me."
"What did it say?"
"That there was no medical reason the IVF should have failed.
That the protocol used was — his word was 'suboptimal.' That a different approach had a strong probability of success."
The room felt very still.
"She had that information," I said slowly, "before the second round."
"Yes."
"And she said nothing."
"She said nothing."
I looked down at Noah.
His mouth was slightly open, the same way it had been in the first hour of his life.
I thought about the second round.
The injections.
Brandon driving me home afterward with his hand on my knee.
The wait.
The floor of the bathroom again.
"Why?" I said.
"Why would she do that?"
Brandon was quiet for a moment.
"The lawyer I called — I didn't call him about the house.
I called him because I wanted to know if what she did was actionable." He looked at me carefully.
"He said it depends on what she told the consultant to do.
He's waiting on documents."
Kimberly's name lit up the phone again.
Neither of us moved.
"She knew we were struggling," I said.
"She sent vitamins.
She came to every appointment she was invited to.
She cried when the second round failed."
"I know."
"She cried, Brandon."
"I know." His jaw tightened.
"That's what I keep coming back to."
The phone went dark.
A minute later, a voicemail notification appeared.
Brandon reached over and pressed play without picking it up.
Kimberly's voice filled the small room, bright and composed, as if she were calling to confirm a lunch reservation.
"Brandon, sweetheart, I just want to make sure we're on the same page before you say anything you can't take back.
Call me when you have a moment alone.
I love you."
He deleted it.
"She doesn't know you found the email," I said.
"No."
"She thinks this is still about the house."
"Yes."
I shifted Noah to my other arm.
My hands were steady.
I was surprised by that.
"What does the lawyer need?" I said.
"The original consultant's report.
She forwarded me a partial copy without realizing it was attached.
He's reviewing it now."
"And if it says what you think it says?"
Brandon looked at me for a long moment.
"Then we have something."
The door opened.
A nurse came in to check Noah's vitals, cheerful and efficient, asking how we were both sleeping.
Brandon said fine.
I said fine.
She noted something on her tablet and left.
When the door closed again, Brandon said quietly, "I should have pushed back on her years ago.
I knew she was difficult.
I told myself it was just how she was."
"Don't," I said.
"I'm serious.
I let her—"
"Don't do that right now." I looked at him.
"Right now I need you thinking about what comes next.
Not what you should have done."
He nodded slowly.
His phone lit up again.
Not Kimberly this time.
A number he'd saved as *Grace — Legal.*
He picked it up immediately.
"Grace."
I watched his face as he listened.
The consultant's report had a second page.
Grace had found it in the forwarded attachment, buried in the metadata.
It wasn't just a medical opinion.
It was a recommendation.
Specific, written, and signed.
And at the bottom, in Kimberly's own reply to the consultant, were four words that made Brandon go very still.
He lowered the phone.
"What?" I said.
May you like
He turned the screen toward me so I could read it myself.
*Let the next one fail.*
