Chapter 4 - The Blood Type
Security separated Ryan and Vanessa.
I was moved into a private room with my daughter.
I still hadn’t named her.
Ryan and I had chosen Olivia months earlier.
Now even that name felt contaminated.
Everything we had chosen together did.
Luka remained outside the room until I asked him to come in.
He stood near the door.
He didn’t approach the bed.
I appreciated that.
“Are you really her father?”
The question almost destroyed me.
Luka looked at the sleeping baby.
“I don’t know.”
“You signed the form.”
“I signed because Ryan walked away and because someone was already trying to erase her records.”
“That doesn’t make you her father.”
“No.”
His eyes met mine.
“It makes me the man standing here.”
I looked away.
A knock came at the door.
The nurse from earlier entered.
Her name was Marisol Vega.
She closed the door behind her.
“There’s something you should know.”
She held a printout.
“Your daughter’s routine newborn screening produced an inconsistency.”
My heart accelerated.
“Is she sick?”
“No.”
Marisol quickly shook her head.
“She appears healthy.”
“But her preliminary blood type doesn’t match the blood type listed in the paternal information your husband provided.”
I stared at her.
“What does that mean?”
“It doesn’t prove paternity by itself.”
“But it means we shouldn’t assume anything.”
Luka looked toward the paper.
“What type?”
Marisol told him.
His expression changed.
“What?”
I demanded.
“My blood type could be compatible.”
The room seemed to shrink.
I closed my eyes.
I remembered the fertility clinic.
The injections.
The appointments.
Ryan telling me not to ask too many questions because stress was bad for conception.
Dr. Hale reassuring me that Ryan’s sample had been processed normally.
Vanessa working in the clinic’s administration department.
I hadn’t known she was sleeping with my husband then.
Suddenly every harmless detail looked monstrous.
My phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
DON’T LET MORETTI TEST THE BABY.
A second message arrived.
YOUR FATHER MADE THE SAME MISTAKE.
I showed Luka.
His face became stone.
“Do you recognize the number?”
“No.”
Naomi entered and took a photograph of the screen.
Then my phone rang.
The same number.
I answered.
Nobody spoke.
I heard breathing.
Then a man whispered.
“Claire.”
My entire body went cold.
I knew that voice.
I had heard it every morning of my childhood.
May you like
“Dad?”
The line went dead.
