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

She looked away.

I knew before she answered.

“Who signed?”

Sloane whispered, “Patricia.”

The first tear rolled down my cheek.

Not because I was weak.

Because somewhere twelve floors below us, hundreds of people were arranging flowers around a woman carrying a child created from my body.

A child I had believed was safely frozen.

A child they intended to raise while telling the world I was barren.

Naomi spoke quietly.

“Why?”

Sloane sank into a chair.

“Because of Eleanor’s trust.”

I looked at her.

“You knew?”

“Patricia knew. She learned about it years ago.”

“How?”

Sloane shook her head.

“I don’t know.”

“What was the plan?”

She wiped her face.

“Ryan needed a biological child connected to Mia.”

Naomi’s expression hardened.

“Why Lauren?”

“Because they could control the circumstances.”

My stomach twisted.

Sloane continued.

“Patricia believed Mia would never become pregnant naturally again. She wanted the embryo transferred to another woman. Once the baby was born, Ryan would establish paternity. They planned to challenge the trust.”

“How?”

“They were preparing to claim Mia abandoned the embryo and was emotionally unstable.”

My ears rang.

“They were going to take my child.”

Sloane stared at the floor.

“Yes.”

“And my inheritance.”

“Yes.”

My hands began shaking.

For years I had wondered whether my miscarriages had destroyed my marriage.

Now I understood.

My grief had not destroyed anything.