Chapter 5 - THE WOMAN WHO STOLE MY IDENTITY
“SOMEONE PRETENDED TO BE ME, SIGNED AWAY MY CHILDREN, AND HELPED MY HUSBAND SELL MY PREGNANCY! I WANT TO KNOW WHO SHE IS—BECAUSE SHE DIDN'T DO THIS ALONE!”
Naomi looked at the photograph for a long moment.
Then she placed it on the table.
“We need the original image, appointment records, visitor logs, and any surveillance footage the clinic retained.”
Madison nodded immediately.
“I'll cooperate.”
I studied her.
“Why?”
She looked surprised.
“Because somebody lied to both of us.”
“But you still want the baby.”
Her expression softened painfully.
“Yes.”
She looked down at her hands.
“I won't pretend otherwise. My husband and I have a nursery waiting at home. We picked out a name. We have spent years imagining the child we hoped to raise.”
Her voice trembled.
“But I would never have agreed to this if I'd known you were being forced into it.”
I appreciated her honesty.
It was more than I'd received from anyone else connected to Harrison's arrangements.
Still, my heart hurt.
Madison had dreams.
So did I.
And three unborn babies were caught between them.
Over the following week, Naomi continued investigating the documents.
The clinic's attorneys resisted several requests, but Madison voluntarily provided everything she'd received during her arrangement.
That included emails, contracts, photographs, and payment receipts.
Some messages were ordinary.
Others were deeply disturbing.
One email from Harrison described the pregnancy as a “shared gestational project.”
Another referred to my medical appointments as “production milestones.”
When Naomi read those words aloud, I felt physically ill.
Production.
As though my children were manufactured goods.
As though my body was a factory.
As though nine months of fear, pain, and hope could be reduced to a business schedule.
June sat beside me while I read the messages.
“I'm going to make sure everyone knows what he did,” she muttered.
I touched her arm.
“Not yet.”
She turned toward me.
“Why?”
“Because Naomi says we need to protect the investigation. I don't want Harrison warned about evidence we haven't secured.”
June exhaled slowly.
“You're thinking more clearly than I am.”
I shook my head.
“No. I'm just terrified he'll get away with it.”
Meanwhile, my pregnancy continued.
I was approaching twenty-eight weeks.
Dr. Patel remained cautiously optimistic about my progress, although she emphasized that we still faced significant risks.
The babies were growing.
Their heart rates remained reassuring during the examinations.
I began keeping a small notebook beside my bed.
Every evening, I wrote something about each child.
Baby A seemed to settle when I spoke softly.
Baby B kicked whenever June played music.
Baby C often shifted when I rested my hand against the right side of my abdomen.
I knew those movements didn't reveal their personalities in any scientific sense.
But they helped me feel connected to them.
They reminded me that beyond the legal documents and terrible secrets, three real lives were developing inside me.
One afternoon, June caught me writing.
“What are you doing?”
“Keeping memories.”
She smiled sadly.
“For when they're older?”
I looked down at the notebook.
“For whatever happens.”
June's expression changed.
“Chloe.”
“I know.”
“No,” she said gently. “I don't think you do. You're acting like the whole world has already decided you're going to lose them.”
I closed the notebook.
“Every person connected to this pregnancy seems to have a contract, a lawyer, or a claim.”
June sat beside me.
“You have something too.”
“What?”
“Your own voice. And people who are finally listening.”
I wanted to believe that would be enough.
Three days later, Caleb Whitman called Naomi.
He had avoided Harrison since the incident at the hotel.
Now he wanted to speak.
Naomi arranged a meeting at her office, and I participated by video from the hospital.
Caleb looked exhausted.
He kept rubbing his hands together.
“Chloe, I've been trying to figure out how to apologize.”
I stared at him.
“You laughed.”
He nodded.
“I did.”
“You heard my husband describe me as an incubator, and you laughed with him.”
His face reddened.
“I know.”
“Why?”
Caleb looked down.
“Because I was a coward.”
The honesty caught me off guard.
He continued.
“After college, Harrison helped me get a job. Later, he invested in my company. I got used to laughing at whatever he said, even when it made me uncomfortable.”
He swallowed.
“When he started talking about the babies, I thought he was exaggerating. Then he explained the arrangements, and I realized he was serious.”
“Did you know before that day?”
“No. Not the truth.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“What did you understand about his business involvement with the clinic?”
Caleb hesitated.
Then he said something important.
“Harrison wasn't just introducing families to Sterling Reproductive Center.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“What do you mean?”
“He had a financial interest in a consulting company that handled referrals and private arrangements for certain patients.”
Naomi's pen stopped.
“What company?”
“Bennett Family Solutions.”
My breath caught.
I recognized the name.
Harrison had once told me it was a consulting business connected to insurance administration.
I'd never paid much attention.
He handled our finances.
I trusted him.
Caleb continued.
“The company collected fees from clients who wanted arrangements the clinic didn't advertise publicly.”
“Fees for what?” Naomi asked.
“Access. Coordination. Placement services. Harrison called it premium fertility consulting.”
I looked toward the window.
He had turned desperate families into customers.
And somehow, he'd turned me into the product.
Caleb shifted in his chair.
“There's another reason I called.”
He removed his phone from his pocket.
“Before the lunch, Harrison sent our college group a video invitation. He bragged that he had a huge announcement.”
Naomi leaned forward.
“Do you still have it?”
“Yes.”
“And what does it say?”
Caleb's face tightened.
“He mentions the three arrangements. He doesn't name Chloe, but he says he's about to complete the most profitable transaction of his life.”
I stared at him.
“Can you give Naomi the original message?”
He nodded.
“I'm willing to testify too.”
For a moment, I couldn't speak.
The man who'd laughed while Harrison humiliated me was now offering to help expose him.
It didn't erase what he'd done.
But it mattered.
That evening, Naomi received another set of documents from the clinic.
Among them was an inventory of embryos originally recorded under my patient identification number.
The information was incomplete.
Several fields had been redacted pending further review.
But one line immediately caught her attention.
She called me.
“Chloe, when you first began IVF, how many viable embryos did the clinic say you had in storage?”
I thought carefully.
“Two, after my most recent retrieval. Before the transfer, Harrison told me the doctors had made changes to the plan.”
“Did you authorize the disposal or transfer of any embryos to another patient?”
“No.”
A long silence followed.
“Naomi?”
She took a breath.
“According to this inventory, neither of your two originally documented embryos was used in the transfer that resulted in your pregnancy.”
I felt the room begin spinning.
“Then where are they?”
“That's what we're trying to determine.”
I gripped the phone.
“Are they still frozen?”
Naomi's answer came slowly.
“One is marked as transferred out of the facility. The other is listed as disposed of under a patient authorization.”
My heart seemed to stop.
“I never signed anything like that.”
“I understand.”
Then she said the words that changed everything.
“Chloe, there's a possibility Harrison didn't just arrange for you to carry three embryos that weren't yours.”
I could barely speak.
“What are you saying?”
May you like
Naomi's voice grew quieter.
“He may also have arranged for someone else to receive one of the embryos that was supposed to be yours.”
