Chapter 8 - The Backup Womb
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I stared at my former mother-in-law, genuinely astounded by her depravity. “You want me to return as a backup womb,” I stated bluntly.
Evelyn flinched, looking scandalized. “That is a vulgar and disgusting way to describe it!”
“It is exactly what you are asking,” I snapped. “You want me to come back, play the dutiful wife, and endure more grueling treatments just in case your new incubator fails.”
She reached across the table to grab my hand. I yanked it away as if she had burned me.
“We know now that you were able to conceive once,” she pleaded in an urgent whisper. “Perhaps the top doctors could try again. We will pay for the best specialists in the world.”
“You also know now that Grant’s genetic condition is what caused the miscarriage,” I said softly.
Evelyn’s expression flickered. Just a microscopic twitch of her eye, but it was all I needed to see. The realization hit me like a physical blow to the chest.
“You knew,” I breathed. “You already knew.”
Evelyn looked away, suddenly intensely interested in the yachts in the harbor.
“The fertility clinic mailed a copy of the genetic report to the townhouse, didn't they?” I demanded, leaning over the table, my voice rising. “And you intercepted it. You hid the medical records.”
“I was protecting my son!” she hissed, dropping the facade.
“No!” I slammed my hand on the table, making the glasses jump. “You were protecting the almighty Whitmore name! You let me hate myself. You let me believe my body was broken, that I killed our child, because blaming the outsider was easier than admitting your golden boy had a flaw.”
“It would have destroyed his masculine confidence!” she argued fiercely.
“So you destroyed my sanity instead.”
For the first time in the eleven years I had known her, Evelyn Whitmore had no immediate comeback. She sat there, her mouth slightly open, a monster exposed in the daylight.
I stood up, tossing a twenty-dollar bill onto the table to cover my drink. I picked up my purse.
“Madison is not your solution. I was not your solution. Children are not band-aids for the emotional dysfunction your family refuses to fix.”
Her face twisted in fury. “You took fifty million dollars of our money!”
“Grant offered it to purchase my silence. I accepted because I finally learned never to reject the only honest thing a Whitmore ever gives me. Go home, Evelyn. Go help the terrified young woman carrying your grandchildren.”
May you like
As I turned to walk away, Evelyn slammed her hand against her water glass in a fit of rage. It tipped over the edge of the table and shattered violently against the pavement.
I didn't even look back.
