Chapter 2

The clinic receptionist smiled politely until I said my name.

"Nora Kinley. I was a patient here three years ago. I need my file."

Her smile vanished. She glanced at her screen, then at me, then toward the back office.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Those records are sealed."

"Sealed by whom?"

She hesitated. "I'm not authorized to—"

"My eggs were harvested without my consent," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the fire in my chest. "I have the invoice. Either you give me my file, or I give this to the police."

The color drained from her face. She picked up the phone and whispered something I couldn't hear.

Two minutes later, a man in a white coat appeared. Dr. Ellis — I recognized him. He was the one who'd told me I had cysts.

"Mrs. Voss," he said smoothly, gesturing toward his office. "Let's talk privately."

The moment the door closed, his composure cracked.

"You need to understand — your husband signed all the consent forms. Legally, we followed protocol."

"He forged my consent," I shot back. "I was told I was having surgery for cysts. I woke up and my eggs were gone."

Dr. Ellis rubbed his temples. "If that's true, it's a matter between you and your husband. The clinic fulfilled a legitimate contract."

"Who was the buyer?"

He shook his head. "That information is confidential. Our clients pay a premium for anonymity."

"And your donors pay with their bodies." I leaned forward. "Two embryos were created from my eggs. Where did they go?"

His silence told me everything. The embryos had survived. My babies were real.

"Dr. Ellis, I will tear this clinic apart in court. Every record. Every transaction. Every forged signature. Unless you give me one thing."

He swallowed. "What?"

"Tell me if my children are alive."

The seconds stretched like hours. Finally, he opened a drawer, pulled out a sealed envelope, and slid it across the desk.

"I can't tell you the client's name. But this — this was sent to us eight months ago. A routine follow-up we require for all surrogacy-adjacent cases."

I opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

Inside were two photos.

Two children. A boy and a girl. Bright-eyed, healthy, and unmistakably real.

The boy had my eyes. The girl had my stubborn chin.

A sob ripped through me so violently that I had to grip the desk to stay upright.

Three years. Three years of grief, of visiting an empty grave, of Derek telling me to "move on" while he spent the money from selling my children.

They were alive. My babies were alive.

I wiped my face and looked Dr. Ellis dead in the eye. "Where are they?"

He shook his head again. "I've already said too much. Please leave before—"

The door swung open.

A woman in a tailored black suit stepped in, flanked by two men who looked like lawyers or bodyguards — possibly both.

She looked at me, then at the photos in my hand, and her expression hardened.

"Dr. Ellis," she said coldly, "you were given one instruction. One."

Then she turned to me.

"Mrs. Voss, my name is Helen Ashford. I represent the father of those children. And you need to come with me. Now."