“Eight months after divorcing me because I “couldn’t give him a family,”

Tiny breaths.

Perfect breaths.

“What happened to my embryo?”

“We don’t know.”

I stood too quickly.

Pain tore through my abdomen.

The room tilted.

Naomi caught my elbow.

“Sit down.”

“Where is my embryo?”

“Mia.”

“WHERE IS MY CHILD?”

My daughter startled awake.

Her cry sliced through the room.

Immediately, every other thought disappeared.

I moved toward her.

Naomi helped me.

I lifted my baby carefully against my chest.

Her crying softened.

I pressed my lips to her hair.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

She rooted against me, confused and warm and alive.

Naomi waited.

When I looked up again, she said, “There’s one more thing.”

I almost laughed from disbelief.

“Of course there is.”

“Dr. Sloane is attending the wedding.”

I stared at her.

“How do you know?”

“The guest list.”

“Why?”

“She treated Lauren.”

The room became very quiet.

I looked down at my daughter.

Then at the invitation.

Lauren was twelve weeks pregnant.

Three embryos had supposedly remained after my last treatment.

One was missing.

My former fertility doctor was receiving secret payments from the same corporate network through which my inheritance money had been routed.

And she was attending my ex-husband’s wedding to his pregnant mistress.

I felt something inside me change.