Part 2
Patricia sank into a chair as if her legs had simply given out.
For once, she had no insult prepared. No cutting remark. No cruel little smile. Her mouth opened, shut, then opened again, but no words came.
Detective Cole set the evidence envelope on the chair beside me. Inside were copies of the consent form, the transfer record, the storage authorization, and the preliminary handwriting report my attorney had requested. The signature at the bottom was supposed to be mine.
It was close.
That was what made it so terrifying.
Someone had studied my signature long enough to copy the general shape of my name, the curve of the C in Claire, the long underline beneath Bennett. But they had missed one detail. I always signed legal medical forms with my middle initial because the clinic had required it after our first IVF cycle.
The forged form did not have it.
Patricia stared at the envelope. “This is a private family matter.”
“No,” I said. “It stopped being private when someone used my embryo without my permission.”
Her face twitched at the word my.
