Chapter 3 - THE HEIR HIS MOTHER PURCHASED
Patricia demanded that we continue the discussion at her attorney’s office.
No one agreed.
She responded by calling the chairman of the hospital foundation, where she had served as a major donor for eleven years.
Within twenty minutes, the hospital administrator arrived with legal counsel.
Patricia expected money to clear the room and restore her authority.
Instead, the administrator informed her that altering patient records was a criminal matter and that the hospital was required to preserve every document we had brought.
Patricia’s polished expression finally cracked.
“These records came from a private fertility center.”
“The center is partly owned by the Fleming Medical Foundation,” I said.
Lucas looked at me.
I had discovered that connection only the night before.
The clinic had received nearly four million dollars from Patricia’s foundation during the years Connor and I were patients.
Melinda had been promoted shortly after changing our reports.
Connor sank into a chair.
“Mom, what did you do?”
Patricia looked at him as though he were being deliberately slow.
“Your grandfather’s trust releases controlling shares of Fleming Development to the first male great-grandchild. You had already wasted seven years in a marriage that produced nothing.”
The cruelty of the sentence made even Connor look sick.
“You altered Kirsten’s medical records because of the trust?”
“I corrected a family problem.”
I felt strangely calm.
For years, Patricia had embraced me at holidays and asked whether I had considered reducing my hours. She sent me articles about stress and fertility. At Thanksgiving, she once prayed aloud for me to become “the wife Connor needed.”
She had known the truth every time.
Connor stood.
“You said Kirsten couldn’t conceive.”
“She might have conceived with treatment or a donor. That would have created questions about legitimacy.”
“You told me the reports were real.”
Patricia’s patience disappeared.
“You were thirty-six years old, drowning in self-pity, and refusing to make difficult decisions. I made them for you.”
Melinda whispered, “You said no one would ever find out.”
Patricia turned toward her.
“And no one would have if you had kept Lucas under control.”
Lucas’s chair scraped against the floor.
“You offered me money because you said Melinda and Connor wanted to raise the child together. You never told me the baby was being used to claim an inheritance.”
“You accepted the payment.”
“I returned it three days later.”
Melinda looked at him sharply.
“What?”
“I returned every dollar and filed for paternity. Your attorney kept delaying the case.”
Patricia gave a small shrug.
“Legal matters take time.”
Lucas stared at her.
“You had me deployed.”
Connor frowned. “Deployed?”
“I’m an Air National Guard rescue specialist. Two weeks after I filed, my unit received transfer orders. When I returned, Melinda had moved, changed her number, and registered Theo under Connor’s name.”
Connor looked at Melinda.
“His name was Avery?”
“For three weeks,” she whispered.
Connor grabbed the back of a chair.
The child he had displayed as proof of his victory had been born under another man’s name.
The administrator asked Patricia’s attorney whether she wished to continue speaking without separate representation.
Patricia ignored him.
She pointed at Melinda.
“That woman signed every document willingly.”
Melinda’s fear shifted into anger.
“You threatened to tell Connor I knew about the fertility records.”
“You did know.”
“You told me I would go to prison and lose Theo.”
“You committed fraud.”
“So did you.”
Patricia’s face hardened.
Melinda reached into the diaper bag and removed a small recording device.
Connor stared at it.
“What is that?”
“Insurance.”
For the past year, Melinda had recorded Patricia’s calls.
We listened to one in the consultation room.
Patricia’s voice was unmistakable.
“The child does not need Connor’s blood. He needs Connor’s name. Once the trust recognizes him, no one will risk exposing the truth.”
Another recording captured Patricia instructing Melinda to continue calling me infertile whenever Connor showed signs of guilt.
A third contained Connor’s voice.
“If Kirsten finds out the reports were changed, we say Melinda acted alone.”
Melinda stopped the recording.
Connor went pale.
I looked directly at him.
“You planned to sacrifice her too.”
He opened his mouth.
Melinda answered for him.
“He always needs one woman to blame.”
That was the major truth beneath every smaller lie.
During our marriage, I had been responsible for his anger, his affairs, his loneliness, and his infertility.
After the divorce, Melinda became responsible for maintaining the life he had manufactured.
Patricia had taught him that love meant identifying the weakest person in the room and making them carry the family’s shame.
The consultation-room door opened.
Two state investigators entered with the hospital’s compliance officer.
Patricia looked at Melinda.
“You ungrateful little fool.”
May you like
Melinda pulled the stroller closer.
“No. I’m just finally more afraid of becoming you than losing him.”
