Chapter 8: The Investigation
1690 Words
I didn't go home.
Yuki took me to her apartment—a slightly less cramped one-bedroom in Astoria—and forced me to lie down while she made tea I couldn't drink and food I couldn't eat.
"You need to process this," she said, sitting on the edge of the couch where I was curled into a ball. "Three babies. Your babies."
"Mine and Dominic's." The words felt surreal. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
"I know."
"They were supposed to be Victoria's. Symbolic replacements for the family he lost. Now they're just..." I pressed my hands against my stomach. "Mine."
"Yours," Yuki agreed softly. "Which means you get to decide what happens next. Not him. Not the contract. You."
The thought was terrifying.
For eight weeks, I'd been operating under clear rules. Carry the babies, deliver them, hand them over, take the money. Simple. Defined. Safe.
Now everything was chaos.
"What if he wants full custody?" I whispered.
"Then you fight him."
"With what money? What lawyer?"
"With every ounce of stubborn determination you have." Yuki grabbed my hand. "Riley, those babies are yours. Biologically, legally, morally. You don't have to give them up if you don't want to."
But did I want them?
I'd spent eight weeks trying not to bond, trying to maintain clinical distance. Now that distance had been obliterated. These weren't abstract concepts anymore. They were mine.
Three babies I'd have to raise. Alone. While broke. While barely able to take care of myself.
The thought was overwhelming.
My phone rang. Marcus.
"Don't answer," Yuki said.
I answered. "What?"
"Riley, are you okay? Dominic just called me. He's losing his mind."
"Good. He should be."
"He's at the clinic now demanding to see the procedure records. He's threatening lawsuits against everyone involved. It's... intense."
"I don't care what he's doing."
"I know you're angry—"
"Angry?" I laughed, bitter. "I'm eight weeks pregnant with triplets I didn't plan for, can't afford, and have to figure out how to handle while the father alternates between blaming me and ignoring me. Angry doesn't begin to cover it."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. "For what it's worth, I don't think he blames you. Not really. He's just scared."
"He accused me of manipulating the samples."
"He was in shock. He didn't mean—"
"He meant it. He always means it." I closed my eyes. "I gave him twenty-four hours. Tell him the clock is ticking."
I hung up before Marcus could respond.
That evening, while Yuki was making dinner, my phone buzzed with an email.
Dr. Whitmore. Subject line: "Urgent—Clinic Investigation."
I almost deleted it. But morbid curiosity won.
Dr. Morgan,
I want to formally apologize for the catastrophic error that occurred during your surrogacy procedure. The Manhattan Fertility Institute takes full responsibility for the mix-up that resulted in unintended natural conception.
Our investigation has revealed the following:
On September 15th, technician Amy Chen (no relation to Victoria Chen) was performing her second-ever embryo transfer procedure. Due to confusion with our labeling system and simultaneous scheduling of multiple procedures, she mistakenly retrieved intrauterine insemination equipment instead of embryo transfer materials.
Furthermore, she accessed the wrong biological samples from storage. Instead of the preserved embryos created from Victoria Chen's eggs and donor sperm, she utilized a fresh sperm sample provided by Mr. Dominic Steele earlier that morning for routine fertility testing he'd requested.
The combination of wrong procedure and wrong samples resulted in successful conception of three embryos—your biological children and Mr. Steele's biological children.
Ms. Chen has been terminated. We are implementing new protocols to prevent future errors. The Institute is prepared to offer full refunds, cover all medical expenses, and provide financial compensation for emotional distress.
Please have your legal representation contact us to discuss resolution.
Again, our sincerest apologies.
Dr. Richard Whitmore
Director, Manhattan Fertility Institute
I read it twice.
Amy Chen had mixed up the samples. Used the wrong procedure. Created three accidental lives because she was confused and poorly trained.
And now I was supposed to what? Sue them? Accept money and move on?
"Yuki!" I called. "You need to read this."
She came over, read the email over my shoulder. "Holy s**t. They're admitting fault."
"Which means Dominic's lawyers are probably already drafting lawsuits."
"Let them. The question is: what do you want?"
I stared at the email. What did I want?
"I want these babies to be safe. Healthy. Born without complications."
"And after they're born?"
That was the question, wasn't it?
Before I could answer, someone knocked on Yuki's door. Loudly. Persistently.
We looked at each other. "If that's Dominic—" Yuki started.
"I'll handle it." I stood, walked to the door, checked the peephole.
It was Dominic. Of course it was.
I opened the door. "I said twenty-four hours."
"I need to talk to you. Now." He looked disheveled—tie gone, hair messy like he'd been running his hands through it, eyes wild.
"I don't want to talk to you."
"Please." The word sounded like it cost him. "Five minutes."
Yuki appeared behind me. "You have three minutes. And I'm staying."
Dominic nodded and stepped inside. He looked around Yuki's small apartment, clearly out of place in his expensive suit.
"The clinic investigation confirms it was their error," he said without preamble. "Complete negligence. My lawyers are filing lawsuits for breach of contract, medical malpractice, emotional distress—"
"I don't care about your lawsuits."
"You should. You're entitled to significant compensation."
"I don't want compensation. I want to know what you plan to do about these babies."
Dominic's jaw clenched. "They're mine. Biologically mine."
"And biologically mine."
"The contract—"
"Is void. We established that. So what happens now?" I crossed my arms. "Do you want custody? Do you want me to disappear? Do you want to pretend this never happened?"
"I don't know!" The admission burst out of him. "I don't know what I want. This wasn't the plan. These weren't supposed to be my actual children. They were supposed to be Victoria's legacy, and now—"
"Now they're your children. Real, biological, actual children. Who will exist in seven months whether you're ready or not."
Dominic looked at my stomach. "Three of them."
"Three."
"I can't..." He stopped, jaw working. "I can't be a father. I don't know how. My own father was absent, cold. I'm not equipped—"
"You think I'm equipped?" My voice rose. "I'm twenty-nine, broke, just lost my job, and I'm pregnant with triplets I never planned for. None of this is ideal. But it's happening."
"We could terminate—"
"No." The word came out fierce, protective. My hands went to my stomach. "No. I'm not doing that."
"Riley—"
"These babies exist. They're healthy. They're growing. And whatever else is true, they didn't ask for this mess. They deserve a chance."
Dominic stared at me. Something shifted in his expression—respect, maybe. "You want to keep them."
It wasn't a question.
"I don't know what I want," I admitted. "But I know I'm not ending three healthy pregnancies because the situation is complicated."
"Then what do you propose?"
"I propose you figure out what you want. Because I can't make this decision for both of us."
"The contract specified you'd sign away all parental rights—"
"The contract is dead. These aren't the circumstances we agreed to. So we start over." I met his eyes. "Do you want to be a father to these children? Your actual children? Not symbolic replacements for Victoria's lost family. Your biological sons and daughters."
Dominic flinched. "I don't know."
"You have until tomorrow. Then I'm making decisions without you."
"What kind of decisions?"
"Whether to raise them alone. Whether to consider adoption. Whether to let you be involved at all." I stepped closer. "But I won't let you control this. Not anymore. These are my children too, and I get a say."
For the first time since I'd met him, Dominic looked genuinely uncertain. Vulnerable. Lost.
"I need time," he said finally.
"You have sixteen hours left. Use them wisely."
After Dominic left, I collapsed on Yuki's couch, shaking.
"Holy s**t," Yuki breathed. "You just gave Dominic Steele an ultimatum."
"I know."
"That was terrifying and amazing."
"I know."
"What if he chooses to walk away?"
That was the question keeping me awake at night. "Then I raise three babies alone. Somehow."
"You won't be alone. You have me. Your mom. Marcus seems decent."
"That's not the same as having their father."
"Their father might be more harm than good. You saw him—he can't even process his emotions without a legal team."
She wasn't wrong.
My phone buzzed. Another email. This time from a law firm I didn't recognize.
Dr. Morgan,
My name is Sarah Reynolds, and I'm a family law attorney. My cousin Marcus informed me of your situation. I'd like to offer my services pro bono to help you navigate the custody implications of your pregnancy.
Regardless of what Mr. Steele decides, you have rights as the biological mother. You don't need to face this alone.
Please call me at your earliest convenience.
I showed Yuki the email.
"Marcus came through," she said. "He really is one of the good ones."
"Unlike his best friend."
"Hey, Dominic's traumatized and emotionally stunted. That doesn't make him evil. Just... difficult."
"Difficult is an understatement."
But as I lay in Yuki's guest bed that night, staring at the ceiling, I couldn't stop thinking about Dominic's face when I'd asked if he wanted to be a father.
He'd looked terrified.
Not angry. Not cold. Just completely, utterly terrified.
And for the first time, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—we were both in over our heads.
Tomorrow would bring answers. Or more chaos.
Probably chaos.
I placed my hand on my stomach, where three tiny lives were growing, blissfully unaware of the mess their parents were making.
"Your mom and dad are disasters," I whispered. "But we're trying. I promise we're trying."
I just hoped trying would be enough.
- Writer
