“I miss a man who lied to me almost every day.”
Daria’s eyes softened.
“That’s grief.”
“No.
It feels like stupidity.”
“No.
It’s grief.”
For months, my life became lawyers, investigators, counselors, court dates, genetic specialists, and questions with no clean answers.
Then came the hardest one.
Knox.
Legally, Megan had given birth to him.
Todd was listed as his father.
Genetically, he was the biological child of Nick and me.
Neither Todd nor I wanted a public custody war.
Megan, however, became terrified I would take him.
One evening, she appeared at my house without warning.
She looked exhausted.
No makeup.
Hair pulled into a knot.
Knox slept in his car seat.
“Can I come in?”
I almost said no.
Instead, I stepped aside.
We sat in my kitchen.
The same kitchen where she had once told me she was pregnant.
“I hate you,” I said.
She nodded.
“I know.”
“I don’t know whether that will ever change.”
“I know.”
“You stole something from me.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You lied to Todd.”
“Yes.”
“You lied to Mom and Dad.”
“Yes.”
“You stood in front of everyone and accused my husband of fathering your child through an affair.”
She covered her face.
“I know.”
“Why forty percent?”
She lowered her hands.
“Gerald told me that was the percentage in the fake will.”
“So you knew it was fake?”
“I knew Nick hadn’t signed it in front of me.
Gerald said it reflected what Nick wanted.”
I laughed bitterly.
“And you believed a disbarred attorney?”
“I believed whatever helped me survive.”
“Stop saying survive.
You were not starving.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
She stared at the table.
“I was scared.”
“Of me?”
“Of losing Knox.”
That stopped me.
Megan looked toward the hallway, where the baby slept.
“After Nick died, Gerald called me.
He said the whole scheme could come out.
He said if investigators proved Knox came from your embryo, you would take him.”
“I never said that.”
“I know that now.”
“He manipulated you.”
“Yes.”
“You still chose to humiliate me.”
“Yes.”
Silence stretched between us.
Then she said something I did not expect.
“If you want custody, I won’t fight you.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
Her chin trembled.
“I carried him.
I gave birth to him.
I fed him at two in the morning.
I know every sound he makes.
But what we did to you was wrong.”
“We?”
“Me and Nick.”
I looked away.
“I don’t want to take your child.”
“He’s your child too.”
The sentence hurt.
“I don’t know what he is.”
“He’s Knox.”
That was the first intelligent thing Megan had said in months.
Not evidence.
Not inheritance.
Not property.
Knox.
A little boy.
I looked at my sister.
“What does Todd want?”
Her eyes filled.
“He filed for divorce.”
I had expected that.
“But he wants to remain Knox’s father.”
That I had not.
“He knows?”
“He says biology doesn’t erase diaper changes.”
My throat tightened.
“He loves him.”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“I love him more than anything.”
“Then stop using him as leverage.”
“I will.”
“If we do this—whatever this becomes—Knox never grows up believing he was a scandal.”
Megan nodded.
“He never grows up thinking he was stolen goods.”
“Yes.”
“He never hears adults fighting over who owns him.”
“Yes.”
“And someday, when he’s old enough, he gets the truth.”
Her voice cracked.
“The whole truth?”
“The age-appropriate truth.
Then more when he’s older.”
Megan cried silently.
I did not hug her.
Forgiveness is not the price of behaving decently.
I simply sat there.
And for the first time since Nick died, the future looked less like revenge and more like responsibility.
Gerald Croft eventually pleaded guilty to multiple fraud-related charges.
Dr.
Vale was arrested in Arizona under another name.
The fertility clinic settled with me after an investigation found serious failures in its release procedures.
I did not become suddenly rich.
Lawsuits are slower and uglier than people imagine.
But I received enough to establish a protected trust for Knox and additional safeguards for the remaining embryos.
The biggest surprise came six months after Nick’s death.
Daria called me.
“Can you come to Raleigh?”
“What happened?”
“I found another account.”
My stomach tightened.
“Debt?”
“No.”
I drove there the next morning.
She placed a financial statement in front of me.
The balance was **$1.86 million.**
I stared.
“What is this?”
“A restitution account.”
“For whom?”
“You.”
I looked up.
She explained.
During the final three months of his life, Nick had quietly sold his interest in two development projects.
Instead of using the money for gambling debt, he placed it into a protected account controlled by an independent trustee.
“He was trying to replace what he thought he had stolen from your future,” Daria said.
