The operating theater shone with bright lights and purposeful movement. Rachel waited outside; Naomi remained near my head as the team prepared. While anesthesia took effect, I heard monitors ticking steadily and doctors speaking in composed voices.
A faint cry suddenly broke through. Another followed, and then a third.
“Are they breathing?” I asked.
“They’re receiving support,” a nurse said. “All three are here.”
I awoke with Rachel beside me. My babies were in neonatal intensive care, tiny beneath their equipment, watched constantly by nurses.
“Can I see them?”
“Soon,” Rachel said. “The doctors want you to rest first.”
Naomi had obtained electronic-signature evidence from the district attorney. The contract sent to Audrey’s family contained a digital copy of my signature assembled from a legitimate medical form I’d signed months afterward. Peter had added his own signature and inserted the copied image of mine.
Investigators located Dr. Whitaker. Clinic logs showed he approved the suspicious agreements via his physician portal despite the authentic laboratory report identifying Peter and me as the genetic parents.
