He nodded slowly. “He stood near the back. I assumed he was from the hospital or one of her patient support groups. Your mother knew so many people.”
“Did he speak to you?”
“No.” His gaze stayed on the photograph. “But he spoke to Connor.”
I felt the old house settle around us with a soft creak.
Connor. Dana. The unknown man.
My mother’s warning.
The missing Set A.
A trust for direct descendants.
The pieces did not form a picture yet, but they were no longer random.
My phone rang.
The sound made both of us jump.
Kenneth’s name appeared on the screen.
I answered immediately.
“Kenneth?”
His voice was controlled, but urgent beneath the calm. “Are you with your father?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Stay there for now.”
“What happened?”
“Melinda sent the emails.”
I stood so quickly the chair legs scraped the floor.
“And?”
“She sent more than emails,” Kenneth said. “She sent a video.”
My father rose beside me.
“What video?” I asked.
“A recording from last year. Connor discussing the embryo transfer with Dana.”
My heart hammered. “Does he admit it?”
“Not directly. But enough to matter.”
I closed my eyes.
For the first time all day, the smallest flicker of hope appeared.
Not happiness. Not victory.
Hope.
Then Kenneth continued.
“There’s something else.”
Of course there was.
“What?”
“Melinda included a note. She says she found an old transfer confirmation labeled Set A. It predates Elliot’s conception.”
My grip tightened on the phone.
“Predates by how much?”
“Nearly two years.”
The kitchen became very still.
Two years.
Before Connor left.
Before the divorce.
Before Melinda’s pregnancy.
My voice came slowly. “That would mean…”
“It may mean another transfer occurred before Elliot,” Kenneth said.
My father gripped the back of his chair.
I looked down at my mother’s notebook, at the photograph, at the words she had left for me.
Find the man first.
“Was there a child?” I whispered.
Kenneth did not answer right away.
When he did, his voice was softer.
“We don’t know yet. But Melinda’s note says Dana once mentioned a successful placement connected to Set A.”
“A placement?”
“That was the word she used.”
I pressed my hand against the table to steady myself.
Not birth.
Not transfer.
Placement.
