Chapter 4 - What Caroline Asked My Mother to Do
Judith came to my estate the following afternoon.
I did not meet her in the main house.
We sat in my late father’s old library above the detached garage because I could not bear the idea of having this conversation in the kitchen Caroline once loved.
Judith was seventy.
Always immaculate.
That day she looked tired.
She brought a manila envelope.
“Before you accuse me of stealing your life,” she said, “read this.”
Inside was a handwritten letter from Caroline.
The paper had yellowed slightly around the edges.
I knew her handwriting instantly.
Nathan is not ready to make decisions about the embryos while I’m this sick.
Please move them somewhere safe if the clinic closes.
Do not let grief make the decision for him.
Give him time.
The letter continued.
Caroline wrote that she did not want the embryos destroyed simply because she might die before we decided what to do.
She asked Judith to preserve them.
My throat tightened.
“Why didn’t you show me this?”
“Because she asked me not to while she was alive.”
“And after she died?”
Judith looked away.
“I kept waiting.”
“For what?”
“For you to ask.”
I laughed once.
“How could I ask about embryos you told me were destroyed?”
Her eyes filled.
“That was wrong.”
Wrong was an absurdly small word.
I looked back at Caroline’s letter.
There was another page.
Judith reached for it before I could turn it over.
That small movement mattered.
“What’s on the second page?”
“Nothing that changes what I did.”
“Then give it to me.”
She hesitated.
I held out my hand.
Finally she released it.
Caroline’s final paragraph was short.
If I die, Nathan decides what happens next.
Not me.
Not Judith.
Not anyone else.
Whatever happens, it has to be his decision.
I read it twice.
Then a third time.
Judith had preserved the embryos because Caroline asked her to.
That part was true.
But Caroline had been equally clear about what came after.
My decision.
Not my mother’s.
Not the family’s.
Mine.
Judith had hidden the embryos for twelve years.
She claimed she had never authorized their use.
I did not know whether to believe her.
“Who paid the storage fees?”
“I did.”
“For twelve years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because every year I thought maybe next year you’d be ready.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Then I asked about Rebecca.
My sister was thirty-eight and ran the Carter Family Foundation.
She also supervised portions of the family office.
“Did Rebecca know?”
Judith’s silence lasted too long.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
I stood.
“What?”
“She found the storage payments during an audit.”
“And you told her what they were?”
“She already knew enough.”
“What did she do?”
“Nothing.”
I stared at my mother.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
The word came too quickly.
That evening my reproductive-law attorney called.
She had obtained preliminary storage records.
The three embryos had indeed survived the clinic closure.
They were transferred legally to NorthStar Cryogenic Storage in New Jersey.
Annual fees were paid from a Carter family-office account.
Two embryos remained in storage until eight months earlier.
Then one was released.
Released for transfer.
The authorization bore my signature.
I had never signed it.
The request originated from the Carter Family Office.
May you like
The contact person listed was not Judith.
It was Rebecca.
