Chapter 5: What Janet Carried Alone
Janet Morgan lived in a narrow terraced house on the east side of the city, the kind of street where the bins were always out a day early and someone's dog was always barking.
Ethan had been here a dozen times over the years — birthday parties, Christmases, the occasional Sunday dinner.
He had always liked Janet.
Quiet, practical, a little guarded.
He had never thought to wonder why.
She opened the door before he knocked.
"I saw your car," she said.
"Come in."
The kitchen was small and warm.
A child's drawing was pinned to the fridge — a house, a sun, a stick figure labeled NOAH in uneven capitals.
Ethan looked at it for a moment before sitting down.
Janet put the kettle on without asking.
She stood with her back to him until it boiled, then set two mugs on the table and sat across from him.
"How much do you know?" she asked.
"I know Noah is Marcus Webb's son," Ethan said.
"I know Claire had a private DNA test run fourteen months ago.
I know she forged my signature on Lily's consent form."
Janet wrapped both hands around her mug.
"What else?"
"That's what I'm here to find out."
She was quiet for a long moment.
Outside, the dog down the street started up again.
A car passed.
"Claire came to me when Noah was four weeks old," Janet said.
"She said she couldn't cope.
She said Marcus had left, that she had no money, that she was frightened.
She asked me to take him.
Just for a little while, she said." Janet's mouth pressed into a thin line.
"He's been with me for six years."
"Did you know Marcus was the father?"
"Yes."
"Did you know Claire was going to put my name on the amended birth record?"
Janet looked up.
"No.
I didn't know about that until Noah got sick.
When the hospital started talking about donors, about biological relatives — that's when Claire told me what she'd done." She set her mug down.
"I told her to tell you.
I told her three times.
She said if she told you, you'd take Lily and she'd lose everything."
"So you stayed quiet."
"I stayed quiet." Janet said it without flinching.
"And I have thought about it every day since."
Ethan looked at the drawing on the fridge again.
"What does Noah know about his father?"
"He knows his mum couldn't look after him and I could.
He knows I love him.
He doesn't know anything about you, or Marcus, or any of it." She paused.
"He calls me Mum."
Ethan nodded slowly.
"He's a good boy," Janet said.
"He's funny.
He reads everything he can get his hands on.
He's still tired from the transplant but he's getting stronger." Her voice was steady but her knuckles were white around the mug.
"Whatever you decide to do — whatever happens with Claire — please don't let him be the one who pays for it."
"I'm not trying to hurt Noah," Ethan said.
"I know you're not.
But courts don't always think about the child first.
They think about rights.
Records.
Legal standing." She looked at him directly.
"I have no legal standing.
I'm not his mother on paper.
Claire is.
If Claire loses custody of Noah because of what she did, he could end up with a man who never wanted him."
The room was very quiet.
"Would you testify?" Ethan asked.
"About what Claire told you.
About the timeline."
Janet didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
"Even against your sister."
"She put a child at risk to protect herself," Janet said.
"She put your daughter through a medical procedure without your knowledge.
She forged your name." She picked up her mug again.
"She's my sister.
I love her.
But yes."
Ethan stood to leave.
At the kitchen doorway he stopped.
"Can I meet him?" he asked.
"Not today.
Not yet.
But at some point."
Janet looked at him for a long moment.
Something in her face shifted — not relief exactly, but something close to it.
"He'd like that," she said.
"He asks questions about everything.
He'd probably want to know what you do for work and whether you've read the same books he has."
Ethan almost smiled.
"What's he reading?"
"Right now?
A book about deep-sea fish." She paused.
"He says the anglerfish is misunderstood."
Ethan nodded once and walked back down the hallway.
He was at his car when his phone rang.
Not Claire this time.
A number he didn't recognize — but he'd had enough of those lately to know they usually mattered.
He answered.
"Mr.
Ethan Calloway?" A woman's voice.
Professional.
Clipped.
"Yes."
"My name is Rachel Holt.
I'm a journalist with the Tribune.
I've received some documents relating to a medical fraud case.
Your name appears in those documents.
I'd like to give you the opportunity to comment before we publish."
Ethan stood very still beside his car.
"Who sent you those documents?" he asked.
A brief pause.
"I'm not able to say."
He ended the call.
Stood there for a moment in the cold.
Then he called Sandra Okafor.
"Someone leaked to the press," he said when she picked up.
"Claire?" Sandra asked.
"Or someone working for her," Ethan said.
"She's trying to get ahead of it."
"How long do we have?"
"The journalist said before they publish.
Could be hours."
"Then we move today," Sandra said.
May you like
"I'll file this afternoon.
Be in my office in one hour."
