Chapter 9 - THE WOMAN IN THE BLUE SWEATER
“YOU DELETED THE RECORDS BECAUSE YOU THOUGHT THE TRUTH WOULD DISAPPEAR! BUT THERE'S SOMETHING YOU FORGOT, DR. VOSS—PEOPLE REMEMBER WHAT COMPUTERS CAN'T!”
Naomi didn't say those words in a courtroom.
She said them quietly during a tense meeting with the clinic's legal team.
I watched from my hospital bed.
The missing records had changed the nature of the investigation.
Before, the clinic claimed everything had been done properly.
Now it had to explain why key files vanished after the court ordered them preserved.
Its attorney blamed a technical problem.
An unexpected maintenance error.
A software synchronization failure.
Rebecca asked for the system audit logs, backup policies, and the names of everyone who had accessed the records.
The clinic promised to investigate.
No one sounded convinced.
That afternoon, a woman called Naomi's office.
She refused to provide her name to the receptionist.
She said only that she used to work at Sterling Reproductive Center.
And that she knew who had impersonated me.
Naomi arranged for her to speak privately with counsel.
Her name was Celia Ward.
She was forty-six, with short blond hair and a tired face.
For nearly fourteen years, she'd worked in fertility-clinic administration.
At Sterling, she had supervised patient coordination, scheduling, and document processing.
She'd known Harrison for almost three years.
When she appeared on the video call, her hands were trembling.
“I don't know how to ask for forgiveness,” she whispered.
I stared at her.
“What did you do?”
Celia looked down.
“I helped create the false patient files.”
June's hand tightened around mine.
Naomi spoke calmly.
“Celia, you have legal exposure. You should have independent counsel before giving detailed testimony.”
Celia nodded.
She had already contacted a lawyer, who joined the meeting.
After confirming the limited purpose of the conversation, her lawyer allowed her to explain why she wanted to cooperate.
“I knew something was wrong,” Celia said.
“I told myself it was complicated paperwork. That the clients had consented privately.”
Her voice cracked.
“But then I saw the hotel story. I heard Chloe say she'd never agreed.”
I leaned forward.
“You already knew I hadn't agreed.”
Celia closed her eyes.
“I knew the clinic didn't have a proper consent meeting with you.”
The room went silent.
I felt anger rising so fiercely that I could barely breathe.
“You watched me come to appointments. You knew I believed those embryos were mine.”
She nodded.
“Yes.”
“And you said nothing.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“Yes.”
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to ask how she slept at night.
How she could look at herself in a mirror.
But I remembered Dr. Patel's warning.
I needed answers more than I needed to shout.
“Tell me about Elena Grant,” I said.
Celia looked at Naomi.
Then back at me.
“Elena Grant wasn't a real patient.”
I held my breath.
“The identity was created using information from Chloe's medical records and a fictional profile,” Celia continued.
“Most of the meetings were represented as happening electronically. But several clients wanted an in-person introduction.”
“Who attended those meetings?” Naomi asked.
Celia's expression crumpled.
“I did.”
I stared at her.
She continued.
“I wore a brown wig. A blue sweater. Large glasses.”
My heart seemed to stop.
The woman in the photograph.
The stranger who had supposedly consented to carry my babies.
It had been a clinic employee playing a role.
“Why?” I whispered.
Celia began crying.
“Dr. Voss told me the arrangement had already been approved and that the meeting was only a formality.”
“Did you believe him?”
“At first, I wanted to.”
“That's not an answer.”
She looked directly at me.
“No. Eventually, I knew it was wrong.”
I sat back against my pillows.
There was a terrible difference between making a mistake and continuing to do something after you knew it was wrong.
Celia had crossed that line.
But she was also the first person from inside the clinic to admit what had happened.
Her lawyer explained that Celia was prepared to cooperate with investigators and provide authentic records that she had lawfully retained or could identify.
She had already preserved messages showing how the fake meetings were scheduled.
She could identify staff members who handled patient documents.
And she could explain the internal workflow used to submit digital authorizations.
Naomi asked whether Dr. Voss had instructed her to delete records.
Celia hesitated.
Then she said:
“I received a message telling me to make certain files unavailable.”
“When?”
“The day of the hearing.”
My stomach tightened.
“From whom?”
Celia looked down.
“Dr. Voss.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Do you have that message?”
Celia nodded.
Her attorney confirmed that it had been preserved.
Then Naomi asked the question I'd been waiting to hear.
“Did Harrison know Elena Grant was fictional?”
Celia gave a bitter, exhausted laugh.
“Harrison helped create the identity.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not confusion.
Not misunderstanding.
Not an unfortunate administrative mistake.
A deliberate deception.
That evening, Madison called me.
Naomi had informed her attorney of the new developments.
Madison sounded devastated.
“I feel like the stupidest person alive.”
I looked out the window.
“Don't.”
“I sat across from that woman. I thanked her for helping me have a child.”
Her voice broke.
“I brought flowers.”
I remembered the photograph of Celia wearing the blue sweater.
An ordinary scene.
A frightened woman trying to believe she had finally found a way to become a mother.
And a clinic employee pretending to be someone else.
“Madison,” I said, “you asked questions. They lied to you.”
She began crying.
“I keep thinking about the nursery.”
I said nothing.
“I bought a little yellow blanket,” she whispered.
“My husband and I chose yellow because we didn't know whether we'd have a boy or a girl.”
I closed my eyes.
“I have three blankets,” I said.
“One green. One blue. One lavender.”
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then Madison said:
“I don't know what the right thing is anymore.”
I looked down at my belly.
“Neither do I.”
We stayed on the phone.
Two women who had been promised children.
Two women whose dreams had been exploited.
And three innocent babies who had no idea how many adults were fighting over them.
The following morning, Celia's lawyer contacted Naomi with additional information.
During her employment, Celia had seen several storage transactions involving my original embryos.
She didn't claim to know their final disposition.
But she remembered an internal account number and the outside facility that received one shipment.
She also remembered Harrison ordering changes to the records.
According to Celia, he wanted the clinic's patient portal to show no remaining embryos under my name.
“Why?” Naomi asked.
Celia hesitated.
“Because he didn't want Chloe asking questions.”
“Questions about what?”
Celia looked directly into the camera.
“Why her own embryos weren't being transferred.”
I felt sick.
Then Celia said something that made Naomi stop writing.
“There was another instruction.”
“What instruction?”
“Harrison wanted the second embryo's record marked as destroyed.”
I gripped the blanket.
“Was it destroyed?”
Celia shook her head.
“I don't know.”
Then she leaned closer.
“But I remember seeing a later storage report listing two embryos under a different account number.”
My heartbeat accelerated.
“Both of mine?”
“Possibly.”
Naomi asked for the report and its origin.
Celia nodded.
“I'll help identify it.”
May you like
Then her voice dropped.
“Chloe, if those records are accurate, your embryos may still exist.”
