Chapter 3: What the Clinic Knew
I stared at the phone.
The clinic's name sat on the screen like an accusation.
"I need to take this," I said.
Diana nodded but didn't move toward the door.
She stood in my hallway, watching Grace, and I turned my back to her and answered.
"Mrs.
Calloway." The voice on the other end was a man I didn't recognize.
Careful.
Rehearsed.
"This is Dr.
Harmon, clinical director at Fairview Fertility.
I'm calling because a situation has come to our attention that requires your immediate—"
"There's a woman standing in my home right now," I said.
"Her name is Diana.
She says you called her yesterday."
Silence.
"Mrs.
Calloway, we'd strongly prefer to discuss this in person."
"Tell me what happened to my eggs."
Another pause.
Longer this time.
"There was a documentation error during your embryo transfer cycle.
We believe a labeling discrepancy in the storage unit may have resulted in—"
"In English.
Now."
"We may have used the wrong egg."
I walked to the kitchen.
Put my hand flat on the counter.
Grace was still in my other arm, warm and small and completely unaware.
"You may have," I said.
"Or you did."
"We're still conducting our internal review—"
"Is Grace my biological daughter or not?"
He didn't answer fast enough.
"Is she mine?"
"The preliminary genetic comparison suggests—" He stopped.
Started again.
"We believe the egg used in your surrogate's transfer belonged to another patient."
I set my phone on the counter without ending the call.
I could still hear him talking.
I didn't pick it up again.
Diana was standing in the kitchen doorway.
"You already knew," I said.
"They told me yesterday morning."
"And you came here anyway.
To my home.
Three days after I brought her home."
"I didn't know what else to do." Her voice cracked.
"I've been trying for six years, Margaret.
Six years.
And they called me and said my egg had been used and there was already a baby and I just — I had to see her."
"She has a name."
"I know."
"Her name is Grace.
And she is my daughter."
Diana's jaw tightened.
Not with anger.
With something harder to name.
"I'm not saying she isn't," she said quietly.
"But she's also mine."
The word landed like something physical.
I looked down at Grace.
She was asleep.
Her lips were moving slightly the way newborns' lips do, like they're dreaming of something warm.
"You need to leave," I said.
"Margaret—"
"You need to leave right now.
And you do not come back to this house without a lawyer present."
Diana looked at Grace one more time.
Her hand came up slightly, then dropped back to her side.
She left without another word.
I locked the door.
Slid down against it until I was sitting on the floor with Grace against my chest.
My phone was still on the counter.
Dr.
Harmon was still talking.
I didn't move for a long time.
Then Grace made a small sound — not quite a cry, just a breath with a voice behind it — and I pressed my lips to the top of her head.
"You're mine," I whispered.
"Whatever they say.
You are mine."
May you like
But somewhere in the back of my mind, a question I couldn't silence had already taken root.
What if the law didn't agree?
