A Legal Incubator

The private clinic smelled of disinfectant and expensive coffee. Julian tucked the cashmere throw around my knees and checked the thermostat twice. “Is the temperature alright, darling? I told them 72 degrees. Anything less is a disservice to my two favorite people.” He kissed my stomach, then my lips. He had never worked this hard in a boardroom. My fingers closed around the slim recording pen in my pocket. I had carried one through years of hostile deals. Marriage had made me careless, not stupid. “I’m fine, Julian. Just a little tired.” “Of course you are. Growing the Thorne heir is demanding work.” The familiar smile reached his eyes on cue. Once, it would have worked on me. When the nurse called me for a preliminary blood test, Julian stood to follow. I touched his sleeve. “It’s one needle. I’ll be right back. Why don’t you confirm our lunch reservation?” The lab was down the left corridor. I took the right one, which looped behind the private waiting rooms. If anyone stopped me, I had forgotten my water bottle. Julian’s door stood ajar. His warm husband voice was gone. “You have to be patient, Chloe. It’s a matter of months.” Chloe. His first love. According to him, she was a family friend he happened to see at fundraisers. Her voice was a petulant whine. “Months? Julian, I can feel my own baby kicking. Why does *she* get to wear the ring and carry the ‘heir’ while I’m hiding in the shadows?” Through the c***k, I saw her cradle a noticeable bump. A diamond necklace lay against her throat. I knew that necklace. Julian kept its sketch on his desk and called it my “push present in the making.” Julian drew her into his arms. “Because, my love, her pregnancy is the key. The trust unlocks when a legitimate heir is confirmed. Think of her as a legal incubator. A very profitable, very temporary one.” An incubator. My thumb found the switch on the recording pen. A tiny vibration confirmed it was running. He had reduced my body and our child to two entries in a deal memo. I understood deals. “Once the papers are signed and the funds are transferred, I’ll file for divorce,” he said. He continued, “I’ll prove she’s unstable. Grief can do that to a woman. You and our real child will have everything. I promise.” I kept breathing. Crying could wait. First I needed evidence, a doctor, and a lawyer. The thick carpet swallowed my steps as I backed away. I passed the lab, crossed reception, and walked outside. On the sidewalk, I called my OB-GYN’s private line. “Dr. Evans, it’s Serena Thorne.” “Serena! Is everything alright? I thought you were with the specialist today.” “Plans changed. I need a surgical appointment tomorrow morning. Give me the earliest one you have.” Dr. Evans paused. “A surgical appointment? Serena, are you sure? Do you want to discuss this with Julian?” Across the avenue, the towers of the financial district cut into the pale sky. I had spent years there walking out of bad deals before they could bury me. “No, he won’t need to be notified. As far as I’m concerned, my husband is already dead.”