Chapter 7 - THE DEAD WOMAN'S LAST WISH
“MY DAUGHTER NEVER AGREED TO THIS! SHE WANTED CHILDREN, YES—BUT SHE DIDN'T WANT HER DEATH TURNED INTO A BUSINESS OPPORTUNITY!”
Eleanor Finch spoke with quiet intensity.
She was sixty-four, with silver-gray hair, tired blue eyes, and the dignified appearance of a woman who had spent too many years learning how to hide grief.
She arrived at Naomi's office carrying a brown leather folder.
I joined the meeting through a video call from the hospital.
The moment Eleanor saw me, her expression softened.
“Chloe?”
“Yes.”
She pressed a hand against her chest.
“Oh, sweetheart.”
I wasn't prepared for that kindness.
For weeks, I'd feared that Audrey's family would arrive demanding possession of Baby C.
Instead, Audrey's mother looked at me with genuine concern.
“I am so sorry for what happened to you.”
Tears immediately filled my eyes.
“Thank you.”
Eleanor opened the folder.
“My daughter Audrey was thirty-three when she died.”
Her voice trembled slightly.
“She was a teacher. She loved children more than anything. She and her husband, Thomas, had been trying to start a family for several years.”
She showed us a photograph.
Audrey was smiling beside a man with dark curly hair.
They stood on a beach at sunset.
She looked happy.
Alive.
Ordinary in the most heartbreaking way.
“After several unsuccessful treatments, they had embryos frozen,” Eleanor continued.
“Then Audrey was diagnosed with a serious illness. She underwent treatment, but she didn't survive.”
I lowered my eyes.
“I'm sorry.”
Eleanor nodded.
“Before she died, she and Thomas discussed what should happen to their embryos.”
She removed a document.
“They signed instructions specifying that no embryo would be transferred after Audrey's death unless Thomas gave fresh, written authorization.”
Rebecca examined the document.
“And Thomas didn't authorize this transfer?”
“No.”
Eleanor's voice became firm.
“He was devastated when Audrey died. He moved to Oregon to be near his parents.”
She swallowed.
“He wasn't ready to make any decisions about the embryos.”
I looked at her.
“Then how did Harrison get one?”
Eleanor's eyes filled with tears.
“My son.”
Her son was named Graham Finch.
He was forty, a financial adviser who had spent years managing portions of the family estate.
Eleanor explained that Graham had become obsessed with preserving Audrey's memory.
At first, she believed his intentions were loving.
He spoke constantly about family.
Legacy.
The possibility of having a child who carried Audrey's genetic connection.
But Audrey's husband had refused to authorize another transfer.
So Graham began looking for other ways to obtain access.
Eventually, someone introduced him to Harrison Bennett.
“Graham told me Harrison could make everything happen privately,” Eleanor said.
“He said the paperwork was already being handled.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Did he tell you the embryo would be transferred to Chloe?”
“No.”
Her voice broke.
“He told me a woman had volunteered to carry Audrey's child.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Did you believe him?”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“I wanted to.”
She looked at me.
“That is something I will regret for the rest of my life.”
For a moment, silence filled the room.
Then I asked:
“Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Did you pay Harrison?”
“No. Graham controlled the account used for the arrangement.”
Rebecca continued making notes.
“And have you spoken to Thomas?”
“Yes.”
Eleanor wiped her eyes.
“He was horrified. He didn't know any embryo had been transferred.”
She looked directly at me.
“Chloe, I can't undo what happened. But I will not help anyone take a child from you through fraud.”
Something inside me loosened.
I had expected another enemy.
Instead, I'd found a grandmother who understood that grief did not justify violating someone else's choices.
Before ending the meeting, Eleanor showed me a handwritten letter.
Audrey had written it during the final months of her illness.
It wasn't a legal document.
It was a personal letter to her mother.
Eleanor read a few lines aloud.
“Mom, if I don't get the life I dreamed about, please don't spend yours trying to replace it. Remember me by loving the people who are already here.”
Her voice faltered.
I began crying.
Because those words described something Harrison would never understand.
A child wasn't a replacement for another person.
A child wasn't a trophy.
A child wasn't a cure for grief.
And a child certainly wasn't a financial asset.
Eleanor folded the letter carefully.
“I don't know what will happen when these babies are born,” she said.
“But Audrey would have wanted the truth to matter.”
I nodded.
“So do I.”
After the meeting, I sat quietly for a long time.
Baby C shifted beneath my hand.
I'd begun thinking of that baby as the quietest of the three.
The one who seemed to rest while the others performed acrobatics inside me.
Now I knew something about the woman whose embryo had been used.
Audrey had been a teacher.
She loved the ocean.
She wrote letters to her mother.
She had dreams that illness interrupted.
I wasn't sure what to do with those facts.
But I knew I didn't want to erase them.
Whatever happened in court, these children would deserve to know the truth about their origins when they were old enough to understand.
Not because genetics determined everything.
But because their identities mattered.
And because no child should grow up surrounded by secrets designed to protect adults from their own mistakes.
Three days later, Eleanor returned with her son Graham.
This time, the meeting was less peaceful.
Graham wore an expensive charcoal suit and barely looked at me.
“I'm not here to apologize,” he announced.
Eleanor's expression hardened.
“Graham.”
He ignored her.
“Audrey wanted children. We all know that.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“That doesn't give you authority to override her documented instructions or the rights of the woman carrying the pregnancy.”
Graham scoffed.
“Everyone's making this more complicated than it needs to be.”
I stared at him.
“I'm the person carrying your sister's embryo. I'm hospitalized because of complications. How much simpler would you like my situation to be?”
He looked uncomfortable.
But only briefly.
“Look, Chloe, the baby is genetically connected to my family.”
“I understand that.”
“And you already have two others.”
The words hit me so hard I could barely breathe.
You already have two others.
As though I were collecting objects.
As though losing one child should be acceptable because two remained.
I looked straight into the camera.
“Graham, I have three heartbeats inside me. Not three interchangeable pieces of property.”
Eleanor reached across the table and placed her hand firmly on her son's arm.
“Enough.”
He pulled away.
“You've always been sentimental, Mom.”
She stared at him.
“And you've forgotten what your sister actually wanted.”
Graham stood.
“Fine. Let the court decide.”
He left without another word.
That evening, Eleanor called Naomi again.
She had found bank statements showing transfers from the family trust to a consulting company connected to Harrison.
The payments had been authorized by Graham.
Several were disguised as reproductive services.
But one was labeled differently.
DISCRETIONARY CONSENT PROCUREMENT
Rebecca read the description twice.
Then she asked Eleanor whether she knew what it meant.
Eleanor said she didn't.
Naomi forwarded the information for financial review.
I sat in silence, staring at the words.
Consent procurement.
As though permission could be acquired from someone who had never given it.
Then my phone vibrated.
An email from Harrison's attorney had arrived.
Attached was a notice of a new court filing.
Harrison was no longer asking only for an evaluation of my capacity.
May you like
He was seeking an order that would allow him to participate in decisions about the babies' placement immediately after their birth.
And the hearing was scheduled for the following morning.
