**
Now, I’m standing in my kitchen with the phone pressed to my ear, listening to a woman from the police department.
“Ma’am, if your signature was forged for medical procedures, that’s a criminal offense. Which clinic handled your IVF?”
I gave her all the details.
I was about to call the police.
“I never signed for an alternative donor,” I said. “Not ever.”
“Then you did the right thing by calling,” she replied. “I’ll call the clinic.”
I screenshot the call log and the results, then set my phone down.
Greg was due home in 20 minutes, and I was done pretending I didn’t already know what happened.
“I never signed…”
**
Three Months Earlier
“Tiffany, slow down,” I laughed, catching the edge of her backpack before it toppled a stack of mail. “You’re like a one-girl tornado!”
She yanked a crumpled kit from the front compartment and waved it like a prize.
“Mom! We’re doing genetics! We have to swab our families and mail it in, like real scientists!”
“Okay, Dr. Tiffany. Shoes off and wash your hands first, then we’ll see what this is all about.”
“You’re like a one-girl tornado!”
She darted off. I was still smiling when Greg came through the door.
“Hey, babe,” I said.
“Hey.” He was already distracted. He kissed my cheek absentmindedly and headed for the fridge.
Tiffany reappeared and jumped up to hug him.
He was already distracted.
“Hey, bug. What’s all this about?” he asked, nodding to the kit.
“It’s my genetics project for school,” she said, holding up a sterile swab like a trophy. “Open up, Daddy! I need a sample from you and Mom!”
Greg turned. He looked at the swab, then at me… then at our daughter.
His fingers flexed like he wanted to snatch it out of her hand.
“I need a sample from you and Mom!”
