Near the private lounge, I heard someone mention Peter and laugh.
“You actually got your wife to carry three embryos from three different women?”
I stopped walking.
Another man replied, “You have to admit, it was clever. One woman didn’t want to risk pregnancy, another couldn’t carry, and the third’s family wanted a child in her memory. Peter found a way to make it happen.”
My grip tightened until the pictures creased.
Peter answered in the reassuring voice I knew so well.
“Nora thinks they’re ours. The clinic handled the paperwork, and she never questioned a thing.”
I couldn’t immediately comprehend it. I kept trying to reconcile the familiar voice behind that door with the man who attended appointments beside me, who knew exactly how much every test and injection had cost me emotionally. Those three heartbeats had represented the family we’d spent years hoping for. I’d wept at ultrasounds, chosen nursery colors and blankets, and watched Peter touch my stomach while promising the babies how eager he was to meet them. Now he spoke about me as though I’d been hired to provide a space.
