I had just managed to hold my newborn nephew in my arms when a nurse pulled me aside and whispered, "That isn't his baby." The birth of my nephew should have been one of the happiest moments of my life, but...

“Put that back,” Daniel said.

His voice was low enough that Emma, speaking with the consultant in the adjoining bathroom, could not hear him.

“Who is Lucas Reed?”

Daniel crossed the room and pulled the privacy curtain halfway closed.

“Rachel, please.”

“Is he the father?”

Daniel took the form from my hand but did not deny it.

For six years, he and Emma had tried to have a child. There had been medications, blood tests, two miscarriages, and one emergency surgery after an ectopic pregnancy. At least that was the story we had been given.

Last winter, Daniel called me and said they had one final chance at in vitro fertilization.

Their insurance would not cover it.

I had transferred thirty thousand dollars from the savings account created after we sold our mother’s house.

I had told him not to repay me.

“You said this baby came from an embryo transfer,” I said.

“Keep your voice down.”

“You took Mom’s money.”

“It went toward getting us here.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

Emma returned before Daniel could respond. She stopped when she saw the form in his hand.

Her face changed.

Not surprise.

Recognition.

“You told her?” Emma asked.

“No.”

“Then why is she holding that?”

“Because she went through our paperwork.”

I ignored him. “Emma, who is Lucas?”

She lowered herself onto the bed slowly. “He was our donor.”

Daniel flinched at the word.

Emma rubbed two fingers against the edge of her hospital bracelet.

“Daniel’s tests showed he couldn’t have biological children. We looked at clinics, but after everything we’d already spent…” Her voice thinned. “Lucas agreed to help.”

“Through a clinic?”

Neither answered.

My stomach tightened.

“You did this privately?”

Emma nodded.

“At home?”

“Rachel,” Daniel warned.

“You accepted thirty thousand dollars for IVF after you already knew there wouldn’t be any IVF.”

“I knew you’d judge us.”

“For using a donor?”

“For failing.”

The word came out sharper than anything else he had said.

Daniel looked toward the bassinet. His son slept with one fist tucked beneath his chin.

“Our father spent my whole childhood telling me a man leaves something behind,” Daniel said. “A name. A bloodline. Proof he was here. You think I wanted everyone discussing why I couldn’t do that?”

“Our father has been dead for nine years.”

“That doesn’t mean he stopped talking.”

Emma closed her eyes.

I almost felt sorry for Daniel.

Then I remembered the money.

“What did you spend it on?”

“Medical expenses.”

“Show me the bills.”

“I don’t keep every receipt.”

“Thirty thousand dollars isn’t a receipt you lose in a drawer.”

A knock interrupted us.

A hospital social worker entered with a tablet pressed against her chest. Her name was Denise Parker, and she spoke with the careful calm of someone accustomed to families unraveling in public.

“There’s an issue we need to resolve before discharge,” she said. “Mr. Reed signed an acknowledgment of paternity this morning. Mr. Mercer is also listed in several intake documents as the intended father.”

Daniel stepped forward. “It’s paperwork. Lucas was a donor.”

“Was the conception performed under a physician’s supervision?”

Daniel did not answer.

Denise glanced at Emma. “Without a clinic or a valid preconception agreement, Kansas law may not treat him solely as a donor. We’ll need legal review before we can confirm who is authorized to make decisions or leave with the infant.”

Emma stared at Daniel.

“You said the agreement protected us.”

“It does.”

“Then why did Lucas sign that form?”

Daniel looked toward the door.

“I told him not to.”

The sentence frightened Emma more than the document had.

“You knew he was here?”

Daniel’s jaw shifted.

Denise asked, “Is Mr. Reed still in the hospital?”

“No,” Daniel said.

The answer was immediate.