Part 2: I discovered my husband was having an affair with my best friend while we were all on the same airplane—and neither of them knew I was there. Instead of confronting them, I sent a small, beautifully wrapped gift to their seats.

I stared at the phone.

Dawson.

My friend.

Megan's husband.

The man who'd just discovered his son was alive.

The man who'd been sitting beside me through the worst days of my marriage.

"No," I whispered.

Teresa began crying harder.

"Claire, I don't think Ryan was only planning to leave you."

I gripped the edge of Mom's bed.

"What do you mean?"

She took a shaky breath.

"I think he's trying to make sure you never find out what happened at the fertility clinic eleven years ago."

My heart stopped.

The fertility clinic.

I remembered.

Ryan and I had struggled to conceive our first child.

We'd undergone treatment.

Signed documents.

Waited.

Prayed.

And eventually, Lucy was born.

I had never questioned the clinic's records.

Not once.

Then Teresa whispered:

"Claire, there's a note attached to the DNA test."

My hands shook.

"What does it say?"

She read it aloud.

PATIENTS MUST NOT BE INFORMED OF THE EMBRYO IDENTIFICATION ERROR.