And I realized that I was about to do something I never imagined a mother would have to do.
I was about to call the police. Then, I was standing in my kitchen with the phone pressed to my ear, listening to a woman from the police department.
Not a stranger, not an anonymous donor…
“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 never signed for an alternative donor. 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 for an alternative donor.”
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.”
She darted off. I was still smiling when Greg came through the door.
“Mom! We’re doing genetics! We have to swab our families.”
“Hey, babe,” I said.
