Not me.
The children.
Charles stared at him, and something shifted in his expression. Perhaps he was seeing the consequences of his own teachings. Julian had learned to treat family as a structure that needed to be protected, even when protection required sacrificing someone. Now that structure was beginning to crack, and he did not know how to hold it together.
The attorney opened the folder.
“There are discrepancies in the dates.”
“What kind of discrepancies?” I asked.
“Vanessa told the family that conception occurred shortly after her relationship with Julian began. The obstetric records indicate the pregnancy began nearly six weeks earlier.”
Margaret shook her head.
“That’s impossible.”
“The records are from the clinic that monitored her pregnancy.”
Julian looked toward Charles. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We only received the complete records last month.”
“Last month?”
Charles did not answer immediately.
The attorney continued. “There is also an issue with the fertility documentation.”
Vanessa had claimed the triplets were conceived naturally. I remembered that from the conversations that had reached the newspapers after she announced her pregnancy. She had been called blessed, extraordinary, chosen by fate. The family had never mentioned fertility treatment.
“What issue?” Julian asked.
“The records indicate that Vanessa underwent assisted reproductive treatment.”
Margaret pressed a hand to her chest.
“She told us she had never needed treatment.”
“She may have been embarrassed,” Charles said.
“Or she lied,” Julian replied.
No one spoke.
I remembered Vanessa’s face on the lawn—not anger, not shock, but fear.
“What kind of treatment?” I asked.
The attorney turned a page.
“In vitro fertilization. An embryo transfer.”
Julian stared at him.
“Whose embryo?”
“That is the problem. The records are incomplete.”
A cold sensation moved through me.
“Does Vanessa know?”
Charles looked away.
“She received a letter from the clinic three months ago.”
“About what?”
“We don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“She refused to discuss it,” Margaret said. “She became upset and told us the clinic was correcting an administrative error.”
“What administrative error?”
Again, no one answered.
The children in the next room laughed over the block tower. Their happiness felt impossibly separate from the adult confusion gathering around them.
I folded my arms.
“You brought this to me because you think Vanessa’s sons may not be Julian’s.”
“We need a private DNA test,” Charles said.
“No.”
His eyes narrowed. “Evelyn—”
