Chapter 3 - THE DOCTOR WHO HELPED HIM LIE
“MY HUSBAND STOLE MY CONSENT, AND NOW HIS DOCTOR IS TRYING TO STEAL MY VOICE! BUT I AM NOT GOING TO LET THEM TURN ME INTO A PATIENT WHO CAN'T SPEAK FOR HERSELF!”
I sat upright in my hospital bed, trembling with anger.
Naomi remained calm.
“Chloe, Harrison filing a petition does not mean a court has accepted his allegations.”
“But Dr. Voss is supporting him.”
“Yes.”
“He was supposed to protect me.”
“I know.”
I looked toward the window.
New York stretched beyond the hospital glass, indifferent to the disaster unfolding in my life.
People were walking their dogs.
Yellow taxis crawled through traffic.
Someone across the street was carrying a bouquet of flowers.
The world looked exactly the same.
Mine had collapsed.
Naomi explained that Harrison's attorney had submitted a statement alleging I was experiencing irrational fears related to pregnancy complications.
According to the petition, I had developed a delusional belief that our children were being taken away.
My husband claimed I was refusing medical treatment, endangering the pregnancy, and behaving unpredictably.
Every allegation felt like a punch.
I'd been the one begging the doctors to protect the babies.
I'd been the one enduring endless medical procedures.
And Harrison was the man who had secretly arranged to distribute three newborns among separate families.
Yet he wanted a judge to believe I was the dangerous parent.
“Can he make the hospital do something?” June asked.
Naomi shook her head.
“Not simply by filing papers. Chloe's treating physicians will assess her medical condition and capacity independently. We'll respond through the proper legal process.”
I looked at her.
“What happens if the judge believes him?”
“Then we'll challenge the evidence. But we need to focus on what can be proven.”
I swallowed.
That was becoming the hardest lesson of my life.
Knowing the truth was not always enough.
Sometimes you had to prove it to people who had never met you.
Later that afternoon, Dr. Patel entered my room.
She had read the hospital records and knew about the legal dispute.
She pulled a chair close to my bed.
“Chloe, I want you to understand something.”
I braced myself.
“Your husband has made allegations. That doesn't change my obligation to evaluate you as my patient.”
“Do you think I'm imagining everything?”
“No. I think you're under enormous stress after learning deeply disturbing information. That is not the same as lacking decision-making capacity.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“Thank you.”
“However, I am concerned about your physical health. You're still having occasional contractions, and carrying triplets puts significant strain on your body.”
I nodded.
“I'll do whatever I need to do to keep them safe.”
“We'll work together on a plan.”
She checked my monitoring results.
“All three babies are doing reasonably well today.”
I closed my eyes.
Three heartbeats.
Three reasons not to surrender.
The following morning, Naomi arranged a meeting with a representative from Sterling Reproductive Center.
I participated through a secure video call from my hospital room.
The clinic's director, Dr. Nathan Voss, appeared on the screen wearing an expensive white coat and a controlled expression.
He was fifty-one, with silver hair, narrow eyes, and a voice polished by decades of reassuring frightened patients.
“Chloe,” he began, “I'm sorry you're experiencing so much confusion.”
I stared at him.
“Confusion?”
“Assisted reproduction often involves complicated documentation.”
“You transferred embryos from three women without telling me.”
His lips tightened.
“That's an allegation we dispute.”
“Then whose embryos are inside me?”
A long silence followed.
Naomi leaned forward.
“Dr. Voss, we are requesting the verified chain-of-custody records for the transferred embryos, including their identification numbers and all consent documentation.”
The clinic's lawyer interrupted.
“We'll address those requests through counsel.”
I looked at Voss.
“Did you know?”
He didn't answer.
“Did you know those babies weren't genetically mine?”
“Mrs. Bennett, I advise you not to make assumptions before the records have been reviewed.”
My anger sharpened.
“You watched me cry after every failed IVF cycle. You watched me celebrate when I finally got pregnant.”
Voss lowered his eyes.
“You told me those were my embryos.”
“Chloe—”
“Did you lie to me?”
He remained silent.
Then Naomi asked one final question.
“Who authorized the three embryo transfers?”
The clinic's attorney immediately ended the substantive discussion, saying the answer would have to come through formal document production.
I stared at the blank screen.
He hadn't denied it.
Not directly.
And his silence frightened me almost as much as Harrison's confession.
That evening, I began remembering small details I'd overlooked.
A nurse who had disappeared from the clinic shortly after my transfer.
A locked office Harrison had visited without me.
A strange conversation between him and Dr. Voss about “delivery guarantees.”
At the time, I'd thought they were discussing medical insurance.
Now I wondered what else those words might have meant.
I asked June to bring me the large binder containing every receipt and document I'd saved during treatment.
She returned from our apartment with two grocery bags filled with folders.
“You kept all this?”
I gave a humorless smile.
“I was terrified something would go wrong. I thought paperwork might help.”
For several hours, we organized the documents across my hospital bed.
Medication receipts.
Insurance statements.
Embryology reports.
Appointment summaries.
Then June found a photograph tucked inside an old envelope.
It showed Harrison standing outside Sterling Reproductive Center beside a woman wearing a white designer coat.
The picture had been taken by a clinic employee during a charity fundraising event.
I remembered seeing it months earlier.
But now I looked more closely.
The woman had sleek black hair, expensive sunglasses, and a distinctive diamond necklace.
A name was printed beneath the photograph.
Harper Lawson — Sterling Foundation Benefactor.
My hands went cold.
Harper.
The woman whose embryo Harrison had secretly placed inside me.
She hadn't merely been a stranger connected to some private arrangement.
She had been involved with the fertility clinic long before my transfer.
June looked at me.
“Maybe she didn't know what Harrison was doing.”
I wanted to believe that.
But something in the photograph bothered me.
Harper was smiling directly at Harrison.
And his hand rested possessively against her lower back.
Not like a businessman greeting a donor.
Like a man greeting someone he knew intimately.
The next afternoon, Naomi called with an update.
The court had scheduled a preliminary hearing on Harrison's petition.
She was preparing testimony from my independent doctors and gathering medical records.
But there was another development.
“Chloe, Harper Lawson's attorneys have contacted us.”
I sat perfectly still.
“What does she want?”
“She claims to have an agreement concerning one of the embryos transferred to you.”
“What kind of agreement?”
“A gestational-carrier arrangement.”
I shook my head.
“I never agreed to carry her child.”
“We've told her attorney precisely that.”
“And?”
Naomi paused.
“Harper insists that you personally acknowledged the agreement before the transfer.”
I stared at the phone.
“That is impossible.”
“I know that's your position.”
Then Naomi said something I hadn't expected.
“She claims she has photographic evidence proving you attended the meeting where the agreement was discussed.”
I felt my chest tighten.
“What photograph?”
Naomi answered quietly.
“A photograph of you inside Sterling Reproductive Center, sitting across from Harper and Dr. Voss.”
I looked toward June.
May you like
I'd never met Harper Lawson in my life.
But someone had apparently created evidence showing that I had.
