Chapter 2: The Signature That Wasn't Hers
“I don’t know,” I said. “I know what the records say. I know what I didn’t sign.”
Cordelia’s mouth tightened. She stayed standing, one hand gripping the back of a chair as if the floor might shift beneath her.
“Then show me.”
I turned the consent page toward her. The signature sat at the bottom, dark and deliberate. My name, written in the slanted hand I used when I was tired.
Cordelia leaned over it.
“That looks like yours.”
“It looks enough like mine to frighten me.”
She glanced up. “You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
I heard the sharpness in my answer. It wasn’t only for her. It was for the years I’d spent swallowing questions because Charles asked me to keep the treatments private. It was for every time Cordelia had looked at me as though I had failed her son.
I pointed to the date printed above the signature. “This was after our marriage had already started coming apart. And whoever signed it knew how to make my name look convincing.”
Cordelia’s eyes moved between the date and the signature. “Charles would never—”
She stopped herself. The words hung there, untouched.
I pulled out the chair across from mine. “You flew across the country because you thought he might have. You don’t have to defend him in my kitchen.”
Cordelia sat. Her purse went into her lap, both hands closing over it.
“I’m trying to understand what happened.”
“So am I.”
She studied the page again. “I didn’t know there were embryos.”
The admission sounded scraped from her throat. For years, she had asked questions about treatments, then criticized the answers I wasn’t allowed to give. Now she stared at the record like it had opened a door she’d never known was there.
“Charles told me the treatments failed,” she said. “He said there was nothing left to try. I thought you both had decided to stop.”
“I didn’t know embryos had been transferred. I didn’t know anyone had used them.”
Her gaze lifted. “He made it sound final.”
A small, bitter laugh escaped me. “He was very good at making things sound settled.”
Cordelia flinched, but she didn’t argue.
My phone buzzed on the table. The screen showed Nora Price’s name. I answered and put her on speaker.
“Did Cordelia get there?” Nora asked.
“She’s here.”
“I’m sorry to make this a conference call, but listen carefully. Don’t write on the pages or staple them. Keep every sheet and envelope together. I want the originals secured, not just the copies I took yesterday.”
“Can you get the clinic to preserve its records?” I asked.
“I can send a preservation request today. That won’t prove who signed the form, but it will make it harder for anyone to pretend the record never existed. I’ll also ask for the original authorization packet and the audit trail.”
Cordelia leaned closer to the phone. “Can they tell whose signature it is?”
“If the clinic kept the original, a handwriting expert may be able to compare it with Hannah’s other records,” Nora said. “But first we need to make sure the clinic preserves everything. No accusations to the clinic staff beyond what’s necessary. No calls to Charles.”
The last instruction landed like a warning.
I looked at the consent form. “He’ll find out.”
“He may already know,” Nora said. “That’s why I’m moving quickly.”
Cordelia shifted in her chair. “Charles said the treatment was over. He never mentioned stored embryos. Not once.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure he told me it hadn’t worked.” Her fingers pressed into the purse. “I can’t tell you what else he may have said to someone else.”
It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t trust. But it was the first time she’d admitted the story she’d believed might be incomplete.
A hard silence settled over the kitchen.
Then my phone rang.
A Boston number flashed on the screen.
I let it stop.
It rang again before I could set the phone down.
“Don’t answer yet,” Nora said. “Let it go to voicemail.”
The call ended. Almost immediately, the screen lit with another incoming call from the same number.
Cordelia stood. “Is that the clinic?”
“I don’t know.”
Nora spoke over the ringing. “Send me the number. I’ll check whether it’s one of the clinic contacts. Don’t return it until we know who’s calling.”
The call stopped. I texted Nora the number. A few seconds later, her reply appeared.
It’s the clinic’s Boston line. They may be responding to my request, but don’t discuss the substance without me.
Before I could answer, the phone chimed again. A voicemail notification.
Nora’s voice came through the speaker. “That’s the newest message?”
I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. I touched the screen.
For a moment, there was only static and a faint breath. Then Charles spoke.
“Hannah. I know Cordelia is with you.”
Cordelia’s hand closed around the chair back.
Charles sounded controlled, almost gentle. That was how he spoke when he wanted to make a threat sound like concern.
“You have no idea what you’re risking. Don’t ruin the girls’ future because you’re angry with me. Call me before this gets out of hand.”
The message ended.
Cordelia stared at the phone. I stared at the signature bearing my name.
May you like
Charles had not asked whether I was safe. He had not asked what I’d found.
He knew Cordelia was there. And he was already trying to tell us what the truth was allowed to cost.
