Part4:My Husband Thought I Couldn’t Understand German—Until I Discovered He Had Stolen My Baby

PART 4

Patient’s husband requested that all future communication regarding embryo storage and disposition be directed to him.

I stared at those words.

My husband had been controlling information about my own embryos.

I suddenly understood why Sophie had wanted me to have this.

She wasn’t simply exposing an affair.

She was warning me.

I pulled out my phone.

My first instinct was to call Julian.

I almost did.

Then I remembered Rebecca.

I wouldn’t tell Julian about this call.

So I didn’t.

Instead, I called someone else.

My older sister, Natalie.

She answered on the fourth ring.

“Claire?”

I couldn’t speak.

“Claire, are you okay?”

I looked at the envelope on my lap.

“No.”

“What happened?”

“I need a lawyer.”

There was silence.

Then Natalie said, “What did Julian do?”

I swallowed.

“I think my husband has been planning to destroy my life.”

Natalie didn’t ask questions.

She simply said, “I’ll find you one.”

That afternoon, I sat across from attorney Daniel Mercer in a small conference room.

Natalie sat beside me.

I placed the envelope on the table.

Daniel didn’t touch anything immediately.

He listened.

I told him everything.

The German.

Sophie.

The pregnancy.

The property.

The fertility records.

The eleven business trips.

When I finished, he sat back.

“Claire, before we go any further, I need you to understand something.”

“What?”

“You don’t confront your husband.”

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You don’t tell his family you know German.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t threaten Sophie.”

“I don’t even know where she is.”

“Good.”

He looked at the documents again.

“Because whatever is happening here, you need to find out the full picture before Julian realizes you’ve discovered it.”

I nodded.

Daniel picked up the property agreement.

“This signature is interesting.”

“What about it?”

“Julian has no authority to transfer your lake house.”

I stared at him.

“Are you sure?”

“If your father left the property to you individually, it’s yours.”

“It is.”

“Then this document may be unenforceable.”

I let out a shaky breath.

“But why would he sign it?”

Daniel looked at me.

“That is the question.”

Natalie leaned forward.

“What do you think?”

“I think,” Daniel said slowly, “that your husband believes he has more control over your assets than he actually does.”

I frowned.

“Why?”

“Because someone has been giving him that impression.”

He opened the fertility document.

“And this worries me more.”

“Why?”

“Because medical decisions involving your reproductive material are extremely sensitive. We need to find out exactly what he did, when he did it, and whether he had any legal authority to do it.”

I stared at him.

“What do I do?”

Daniel folded his hands.

“Tonight, you go home.”

My stomach turned.

“You want me to go back to him?”

“For now.”

“Why?”

“Because if Julian thinks everything is normal, he may continue behaving normally.”

“And if he knows I know?”

“He’ll start cleaning up.”

The words chilled me.

“Cleaning up what?”

“Evidence.”

When I arrived home that evening, Julian was already there.

He was standing in the kitchen with his tie loosened, drinking wine.

He smiled when he saw me.

“There she is.”

I forced a smile.

“Long day.”

He walked toward me and kissed my forehead.

“Feeling better?”

“Much.”

“Good.”

He took my coat.

For one terrifying second, I wondered whether he could somehow see the truth on my face.

Then he smiled.

“I missed you.”

I almost laughed.

Instead, I said, “I missed you too.”

His expression softened.

Then he asked casually,

“Did anything interesting happen today?”

My heart stopped.

I looked directly into his eyes.

“No.”

He smiled.

“Good.”

Then he returned to his wine.

I watched him.

Really watched him.

The man standing in front of me looked exactly like the husband I had loved for ten years.

Same dark hair.

Same familiar smile.

Same wedding ring.

Same voice.

But now I knew there was another version of him.

A version who spoke German at dinner.

A version who signed contracts behind my back.

A version who canceled fertility treatments without telling me.

A version who had apparently promised our property to another woman.

I went upstairs.

I changed clothes.

I came back down.

Dinner was quiet.

Julian talked about work.

I listened.

Then, as we were clearing the dishes, he said something that made my blood run cold.

“I think we should start preparing the guest room.”

I froze.

“For what?”

He smiled.

“For the baby.”

I slowly turned toward him.

“What baby?”

He laughed.

“Claire.”

“What?”

“You know what I mean.”

I stared at him.

He was testing me.

Or perhaps he was simply arrogant enough to believe I still knew nothing.

“Your mother mentioned something?”

His face changed.

Only for a fraction of a second.

Then he recovered.

“What did she mention?”

I shrugged.

“Nothing specific.”

He watched me.

“Claire.”

“Yes?”

“Is something wrong?”

I smiled.

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“You’ve been acting strange.”

“Have I?”

“Yes.”

I reached for a glass.

“Maybe I’m tired.”

He studied me for several seconds.

Then he smiled again.

“Of course.”

That night, after Julian went to bed, I waited.

At 1:17 a.m., I heard his breathing become steady.

At 1:26, I got up.

I walked quietly to his office.

I had never searched his desk before.

Not once.

I opened the drawer.

Nothing.

Another drawer.

Bills.

Receipts.

Pens.

Then I noticed something.

A key.

Small.

Silver.

With a red tag attached.

Storage.

I took a photograph of it with my phone.

I didn’t take the key.

I closed the drawer.

Then I opened the cabinet beneath his desk.

Inside were folders.

I began looking through them.

Business.

Taxes.

Insurance.

Nothing.

Until I found one labeled:

BENNETT FAMILY TRUST.

My heart pounded.

I opened it.

The first page was dated three years earlier.

I read it.

Then I sat down.

The trust wasn’t what I thought it was.

Julian had been named as successor trustee.

But there was something else.

A beneficiary amendment.

My name had been removed from one portion of the trust.

And someone else’s name had been added.

SOPHIE LARSON.

I covered my mouth.

“No…”

I turned the page.

There was another signature.

Not Julian’s.

My father’s.

I stared at it.

My father had died four years earlier.

And the amendment was dated two years after his death.

That was impossible.

Unless—

Someone had forged his signature.

I photographed every page.

Then I carefully returned everything exactly as I had found it.

I closed the office door.

But as I turned around—

Julian was standing at the end of the hallway.

My blood turned to ice.

He looked at me.

Neither of us spoke.

Then his eyes moved toward the office.

“What are you doing?”

I smiled.

“Getting water.”

“At one-thirty in the morning?”

I shrugged.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

He stared at me.

Then he walked toward me.

Slowly.

“You’ve been in my office.”

“No.”

His jaw tightened.

“Claire.”

I looked directly into his eyes.

“I said no.”

For the first time in ten years, I saw fear in my husband’s face.

Not guilt.

Fear.

He stepped closer.

“Why are you lying to me?”

I smiled softly.

“Maybe I’m learning.”

He frowned.

“Learning what?”

I walked past him.

“German.”

He froze.

I didn’t turn around.

I went back to the bedroom.

Closed the door.

Locked it.

Then I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone.

Because I had just realized something.

Julian hadn’t been afraid that I’d discovered Sophie.

He had been afraid I’d discovered something else.

Something much bigger.

And whatever that secret was—

I was going to find it.

CONTINUE READING PART5