The afternoon began like an ordinary visit.
I went to the Fairmont Copley Plaza because Peter had told me about his lunch with his college friends.
He hadn't asked me to come.
That was why I thought surprising him would be nice.
I imagined walking into the lounge and seeing his expression.
Perhaps he would be surprised.
Perhaps he would laugh.
I thought he might ask how the appointment had gone.
Then I could show him the pictures.
I had been carrying them carefully.
I didn't want the corners to fold.
I had spent enough time looking at those images that I could recognize each one without needing to check the order.
Three babies.
Three little profiles.
Three reasons to feel grateful.
I was proud of them.
I was proud of what I thought Peter and I had accomplished together.
The hotel was where he had said it would be.
I made my way toward the private lounge where the lunch was taking place.
I didn't immediately see Peter.
There were people nearby, and I heard conversation coming from the direction of the room.
Then someone mentioned his name.
I slowed down.
I wasn't trying to listen.
I simply recognized the name and wanted to know whether he was speaking.
A man laughed.
It was a loud, easy laugh, the kind people use when they are enjoying a private joke.
Then I heard a question.
It was about Peter.
At first, I didn't understand why the man was asking it.
His words were clear enough, but the meaning seemed impossible.
He asked whether Peter had really persuaded his wife to carry embryos that came from three different women.
I stopped walking.
For a moment, I thought I had heard incorrectly.
I looked down at the photographs.
My fingers tightened around them.
I had been expecting to hear something about business.
Perhaps a joke about their college days.
Perhaps a story Peter had told them before.
But not that.
Not anything involving my pregnancy.
I remained where I was.
I waited for someone to explain the comment.
Someone else spoke.
He said the arrangement had been clever.
He mentioned that one woman hadn't wanted to take the physical risk of pregnancy.
Another woman, he said, couldn't carry a child.
The third woman's family had wanted a baby connected to her memory.
I didn't move.
The words came one after another.
I tried to understand what they were talking about.
Three women.
Three embryos.
My pregnancy.
The three babies I had been told were part of the family Peter and I were building.
My mind kept trying to separate those things.
I wanted there to be another explanation.
Perhaps the men were discussing something unrelated.
Perhaps they were talking about a different situation.
Perhaps Peter would correct them.
I waited for his voice.
Then I heard it.
It was unmistakably him.
I knew that voice better than anyone in the room.
I had heard it when he called me from work.
I had heard it when he spoke softly during my appointments.
I had heard it when he told the babies that he couldn't wait to meet them.
Now he was using it to explain that I believed the triplets were ours.
He said the clinic had taken care of the paperwork.
He said I had never challenged anything.
I felt the photographs shift in my hands.
I looked down and saw that I had bent one corner.
I tried to straighten it.
My fingers weren't working properly.
I couldn't understand what he meant by the paperwork.
I remembered the forms.
I remembered sitting through the process.
I remembered signing documents that had been presented as part of our treatment.
I remembered being told that everything was in order.
I had trusted the people handling the medical process.
More importantly, I had trusted Peter.
He had been there.
He had known what I believed I was agreeing to.
I had never imagined that the paperwork might mean something completely different.
Inside the lounge, the men continued talking.
I couldn't make myself leave.
I also couldn't make myself walk into the room.
I stood between those two choices.
Then one of Peter's friends asked what would happen once the babies were born.
That question made my stomach tighten.
It was the first time someone had asked about the future in a way that sounded like a practical arrangement rather than a family conversation.
I waited for Peter's answer.
I wanted him to say that the men had misunderstood.
I wanted him to explain that the babies would remain with us.
I wanted to hear something that could make the conversation less terrible.
Instead, he laughed.
He said each family would receive the child it had been promised.
I remember the words.
I remember how ordinary his voice sounded.
There was no hesitation.
No embarrassment.
No sign that he was discussing something that might destroy his marriage.
He spoke as though the matter had already been settled.
Then he said I was doing what I was useful for.
I didn't immediately understand that sentence either.
Or perhaps I understood it too well.
My body went cold.
I looked at the ultrasound pictures again.
Until that moment, I had thought of them as pictures of our children.
Now I was hearing my husband describe them as babies that belonged to other families.
I tried to breathe.
I tried to think.
I tried to find one explanation that didn't make Peter the person I was beginning to hear.
There wasn't one.
A photograph slipped from my hand.
It fell toward the carpet.
I watched it land facedown.
I didn't bend to pick it up immediately.
My eyes stayed fixed on the floor.
That small piece of paper had meant so much to me.
Now I couldn't even look at it.
One of the men asked another question.
His voice sounded different.
He seemed less amused.
He wanted to know what would happen if I discovered the arrangement.
I remember holding my breath.
Peter answered without sounding concerned.
He pointed out that I was already six months pregnant with triplets.
He questioned where I would go.
Then he said I wanted to become a mother so badly that I would accept whatever explanation he gave me.
I felt something inside me give way.
It wasn't just the claim about the embryos.
It wasn't just the suggestion that the babies would be handed to three other families.
It was the way he spoke about my desire to have children.
He knew what I had gone through.
He knew about the years of disappointment.
He knew how much courage it had taken to continue with treatment.
He had watched me take medication.
He had seen me tired and frightened.
He had held my hand.
And apparently, he had understood all of that as something he could use.
I wanted to walk into the room.
I wanted to look at him.
I wanted to ask him to repeat what he had just said.
I wanted to see whether he could look directly at me while explaining it.
But I couldn't move.
My legs felt weak.
My mouth was dry.
I had come to the hotel expecting to surprise my husband with photographs of our babies.
Now I was standing outside a room listening to him explain why I would never be allowed to keep them.
I didn't know whether the other men understood what he had done.
I didn't know how much they knew.
I only knew that none of the things I had heard sounded like a misunderstanding.
The first man had known about three women.
The second had known why those women needed someone else to carry their embryos.
Peter had confirmed that the clinic had handled the documents.
He had confirmed that I didn't know.
And he had described what would happen after birth.
There was no single sentence I could dismiss.
The pieces fit together in a way I didn't want them to.
I looked at the photographs.
One had fallen.
The others were still in my hand.
I picked up the one on the carpet.
Its surface had a small crease.
I pressed it flat with my thumb.
I didn't know why I bothered.
Perhaps because I needed something familiar to do.
Perhaps because the photographs were the only things I had brought that still belonged to the life I thought I had.
I heard the men shifting in their seats.
Then someone asked another question.
I couldn't make out every word.
I was concentrating on staying upright.
My stomach had begun to feel tight.
At first, I thought it was simply the shock.
I placed one hand against the wall.
I tried to breathe slowly.
The pressure didn't disappear.
It became stronger.
I had been warned to pay attention to unusual pain during a pregnancy with triplets.
I knew I shouldn't ignore it.
But my mind was still inside that room.
I was still hearing Peter's voice.
I was still trying to understand how the man who had promised to raise these children with me could speak about me as if I were only a means to an end.
Then the tightening became painful.
I pressed my palm against the wall.
My other hand held the photographs.
I couldn't decide what to do first.
I wanted to get away.
I wanted to get help.
I wanted to call someone.
I wanted to wake up from what was happening.
But none of those things happened immediately.
I stood there, trying to control my breathing.
The room behind the door was still occupied.
I could hear movement.
Then the doorknob began to turn.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Door Handle Moved While I Was Trying to Understand How the Man I Trusted Had Made Plans for Three Babies Without Me
Three Heartbeats Had Made Me Believe Our Marriage Was Finally Becoming Everything We Had Hoped It Would Be
Part 2 of 4
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