Chapter 5
Melissa Grant answered the door holding a little girl's hand.
For a moment, I forgot why I had come.
The child couldn't have been older than four.
She had curly hair, bright eyes, and a small pink backpack.
Melissa looked exhausted.
“Can I help you?”
I took a breath.
“My name is Serena Carter.”
Her expression changed.
I had introduced myself using my current married name.
But she recognized me anyway.
“Serena Mitchell?”
I felt a chill.
“That was my name before I remarried.”
Melissa looked toward the hallway.
Then back at me.
“I wondered when someone would come.”
My attorney, Rachel, stood beside me.
We had arranged the visit after Melissa agreed to speak.
But her reaction made me nervous.
“Can we talk?” I asked.
She glanced at her daughter.
“Not in front of Ava.”
She invited us inside.
A few minutes later, Ava went to play in the next room.
Melissa sat across from us.
She looked about thirty-five.
Her hands were trembling.
I wanted to ask a hundred questions.
Rachel spoke first.
“Melissa, thank you for agreeing to meet us.”
Melissa nodded.
“I don't want trouble.”
“Neither do we,” I said.
She looked at me.
“That's what I told Adrian.”
My chest tightened.
“You know him?”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“Unfortunately.”
I leaned forward.
“How?”
Melissa stared at the table.
“Eight years ago, I was desperate to have a child.”
She explained that she had undergone several fertility treatments without success.
She eventually joined a donor embryo program.
A clinic coordinator introduced her to a proposed arrangement involving embryos that had been created for another couple.
I listened carefully.
“What couple?”
Melissa looked at me.
“That's the problem.”
I waited.
“The paperwork listed Adrian Mitchell and Serena Mitchell.”
My stomach turned.
I looked toward Rachel.
She began taking notes.
Melissa continued.
“I was told the original intended parents had signed all necessary releases.”
I shook my head.
“I didn't.”
Melissa's eyes filled.
“I know that now.”
I stared at her.
“What happened?”
She swallowed.
“I never received an embryo transfer from that arrangement.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“The clinic stopped the process before treatment.”
Relief and confusion hit me together.
“Why?”
Melissa looked down.
“Someone questioned the consent documents.”
I sat back.
“Who?”
“A nurse named Olivia Reed.”
Rachel leaned forward.
“Do you know where she is now?”
Melissa shook her head.
“She left Brookside a few months later.”
I looked at Rachel.
Another name.
Another witness.
But at least one terrifying possibility had been removed.
Melissa's daughter was not the result of an unauthorized embryo transfer connected to my name.
I glanced toward the hallway.
“Your daughter?”
Melissa smiled faintly.
“Ava was born after I received treatment through a different program with properly verified donor consent.”
I exhaled.
“I'm glad.”
She looked surprised.
“You are?”
“Of course.”
Her eyes filled.
“I thought you might hate me.”
I shook my head.
“You didn't know.”
Melissa began crying.
“I've carried guilt for years because I suspected something was wrong.”
I reached across the table.
“What did you suspect?”
She wiped her cheeks.
“Adrian kept contacting me after the arrangement was stopped.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“He said the clinic was being difficult.”
“What did he want?”
“He wanted me to sign a statement saying I had spoken with you.”
I froze.
“Spoken with me?”
She nodded.
“He said it would help correct the paperwork.”
I stared at her.
“Did you sign?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I had never met you.”
Rachel made another note.
Melissa continued.
“He became angry. He told me I was ruining his chance to have a family.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was again.
The same language.
The same manipulation.
Adrian's desire for a family had become an excuse to control everyone around him.
“What happened afterward?” I asked.
Melissa looked toward Ava's room.
“I blocked him.”
“Did he contact you again?”
“Once. About six months ago.”
My heart pounded.
“Six months?”
She nodded.
“He said he was getting married and wanted to settle old paperwork.”
I thought of Vanessa.
The wedding.
The forms.
Adrian had been trying to use the same documents again.
Rachel leaned forward.
“Melissa, would you be willing to provide copies of your correspondence?”
Melissa nodded.
“I saved everything.”
I felt tears rising.
“Thank you.”
She looked at me.
“Serena, I'm sorry.”
I shook my head.
“You don't owe me an apology.”
She swallowed.
“But someone does.”
I knew exactly who she meant.
After we left, Rachel called the investigator assigned to the medical-record complaint.
She explained what Melissa had told us.
Then she requested that Brookside preserve all correspondence involving the donor embryo program.
I drove home feeling emotionally drained.
But I also felt stronger.
For years, my suffering had seemed impossible to prove.
Now the story was becoming clearer.
Adrian hadn't simply told one lie during our divorce.
He had misrepresented medical results, used my identity on disputed documents, and tried to build fertility arrangements without valid consent.
I had believed my pain was a private failure.
It wasn't.
It was the consequence of someone else's deception.
That evening, David found me sitting on our bedroom floor surrounded by old photographs.
He sat beside me.
“What are you doing?”
I held up a picture from my first wedding.
I was twenty-seven.
Smiling.
Hopeful.
I barely recognized myself.
“I found this in a box.”
David looked at the photograph.
“You were beautiful.”
I laughed softly.
“I was naive.”
He shook his head.
“Trusting someone you love doesn't make you naive.”
I looked at him.
“I ignored so many signs.”
“Maybe.”
He touched my cheek.
“But you didn't deserve what happened.”
I leaned against him.
We sat quietly.
Then I asked something I had been afraid to say.
“Do you ever wish I had come into our marriage without so much baggage?”
David looked almost offended.
“No.”
I smiled through tears.
“Really?”
“Serena, I married the woman you became. Your past is part of your story, but it doesn't define you.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time that week, I felt calm.
The next morning, Rachel called.
“Serena, we located Olivia Reed.”
I sat up.
“The nurse?”
“Yes.”
“Will she talk?”
Rachel hesitated.
“She already contacted the investigators.”
My heart pounded.
“What did she say?”
“She said she remembers your file.”
I gripped the phone.
“And?”
“She remembers questioning the signature.”
I closed my eyes.
Finally.
Someone had noticed.
Someone had tried to stop it.
Rachel continued.
“Olivia also says the clinic's management ignored her concerns.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“Because Adrian threatened legal action unless the program moved forward.”
I stared at the wall.
“But the transfer didn't happen.”
“No. Olivia's intervention appears to have prevented it.”
I exhaled.
Then Rachel added, “Serena, there's something else.”
“What?”
“Olivia kept a personal copy of a written complaint she submitted at the time.”
I sat forward.
“What does it say?”
Rachel took a breath.
“It identifies the person who instructed staff to accept the disputed authorization.”
I froze.
“Who?”
She answered quietly.
“Patricia Mitchell.”
My entire body went cold.
Adrian's mother.
The woman who had stood in the wedding ballroom pretending she was finally telling the truth.
The woman who claimed she had only known part of the story.
I looked at the old wedding photograph lying on the floor.
Patricia stood beside me, smiling.
One hand rested lovingly on my shoulder.
I remembered how she called me her daughter.
How she promised to protect me.
And suddenly I understood.
May you like
She hadn't merely watched her son lie.
She had helped him do it.
