Chapter 5: The Meeting
I should have ignored it.
Ruth had told me not to speak to Diana without counsel present.
Every sensible instinct I had said the same thing.
I texted back: *Tomorrow.
10am.
The café on Birchwood.
One hour.*
She was already there when I arrived.
A corner table.
Two coffees she'd ordered in advance.
She stood when she saw me come through the door, then seemed to think better of it and sat back down.
I sat across from her.
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
"I have an attorney appointment at noon.
So say what you need to say."
She wrapped her hands around her cup.
Her nails were bitten short.
There were shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there yesterday, or maybe I hadn't noticed them.
"I didn't sleep," she said.
"Neither did I."
"I kept thinking about what I said.
About Grace being mine." She shook her head.
"I didn't mean it the way it sounded."
"How did you mean it?"
"I meant—" She stopped.
Tried again.
"I meant that biologically, she came from me.
That's all I meant.
I'm not trying to take her from you."
"Then what are you trying to do?"
She looked out the window.
A woman was pushing a stroller past on the pavement outside.
We both watched it go.
"I want to know her," Diana said.
"That's all.
I want — I don't know what I want.
I've been trying to have a child for six years and every time it failed and then the clinic called me and said my egg had been used and there was already a baby and she was already born and I just—" Her voice broke.
She pressed her fingers to her mouth.
"I just needed to see that she was real."
I watched her.
"I'm fifty-one," she said.
"I started trying at forty-five.
My husband left after the third failed cycle.
He said he couldn't keep doing it." She laughed, but there was nothing in it.
"So I kept doing it alone.
And then this."
I said nothing.
"I know you're her mother," Diana said.
"I can see it.
The way you hold her.
The way you wouldn't let go of her even for a second when I was standing in your hallway." She met my eyes.
"I'm not your enemy, Margaret."
"You're a stranger who came to my home three days after I brought my newborn daughter back from the hospital."
"I know."
"You frightened me."
"I know.
I'm sorry."
I looked at her for a long moment.
The apology sat between us, neither of us sure what to do with it.
"What do you want from me, Diana?
Specifically.
Not in general.
What are you asking for?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"I want a DNA test," she said.
"An independent one.
Not the clinic's."
"And if it confirms what they're saying?"
She didn't answer immediately.
"Then I want to talk about what comes next," she said.
"Calmly.
Between two adults.
Without a courtroom if we can avoid it."
I picked up my coffee.
It had gone slightly cold.
"I'll speak to my attorney first," I said.
"I won't agree to anything without legal advice."
"That's fair."
"And Diana." I set the cup down.
"If you ever come to my home unannounced again — for any reason — I will treat it as a threat.
Do you understand me?"
She held my gaze.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"I understand."
I left first.
I didn't look back.
But walking to my car, I felt something shift — not toward trust, not even close to that.
Just the faint, unwelcome recognition that Diana was not the villain I needed her to be.
And that made everything harder.
My attorney called before I reached the car.
May you like
"Margaret, I've been looking at the clinic's consent documentation from your original IVF cycle.
There's something in here you need to see."
