Rachel arrived while I was still trying to organize my thoughts.
I was relieved when I saw her.
I hadn't realized how much I needed someone familiar until she walked into the room.
She came to my bedside.
She looked at me carefully.
I could tell she was worried.
I had called her from the ambulance, but I hadn't explained everything.
I had been in too much pain.
I had barely been able to put the words together.
Now I needed to tell her what happened.
She pulled a chair close to the bed.
She didn't rush me.
She waited.
I started with the hotel.
I told her I had gone to surprise Peter.
I explained that he was having lunch with college friends.
I told her I had brought the latest ultrasound photographs because I wanted to show him the babies.
Rachel listened.
I told her about the conversation outside the private lounge.
I repeated the question one of the men had asked.
Then I explained what I heard about the three women.
One hadn't wanted to carry a pregnancy herself.
Another couldn't carry one.
The third woman's family wanted a child connected to her memory.
I watched Rachel's expression change.
She didn't interrupt.
I continued.
I told her Peter had confirmed that the embryos came from those women.
I told her he had said I believed the babies were ours.
I explained that he had mentioned the clinic paperwork.
Then I told her what he had said about the babies going to three different families after birth.
That was the hardest part.
Even saying it aloud made it sound worse.
Rachel remained quiet.
I told her about the way he had spoken about me.
I told her he had said I was doing what I was useful for.
I explained that one of his friends had questioned what would happen if I found out.
Peter had answered that I was already six months pregnant.
He had suggested that I wouldn't have anywhere to go.
And he had said I wanted to be a mother badly enough to believe whatever he told me.
When I finished, I looked at Rachel.
I didn't know what I expected her to say.
Perhaps I wanted her to tell me there had been a misunderstanding.
Perhaps I wanted her to tell me I had heard something incorrectly.
But she didn't do that.
She took my hand.
I started crying.
Not loudly.
I was simply unable to keep everything inside anymore.
For months, I had believed Peter and I were sharing one of the most important experiences of our lives.
I had believed the treatments were for our family.
I had believed the three babies belonged to the future we had discussed together.
Now I was hearing my own words come out of my mouth, and they sounded like the story of someone who had been deceived.
Rachel let me finish.
She didn't tell me to calm down.
She didn't question why I had gone to the hotel.
She didn't ask why I hadn't called Peter.
She understood that I was already struggling with those questions myself.
After a while, she asked something I hadn't expected.
She wanted to know whether I had ever seen the original paperwork from the clinic.
I stared at her.
The question seemed simple.
But it brought back memories I hadn't considered important before.
The forms.
The appointments.
The explanations.
The signatures.
I told her I had signed documents.
I had believed they concerned our embryos.
I remembered being given paperwork during the treatment process.
There had been medical information to review.
There had been things that needed my signature.
I hadn't thought of those forms as anything suspicious.
Why would I?
Peter had been beside me.
He had been involved in the process.
The clinic staff had told me everything was in order.
I had believed the documents were part of the treatment we had agreed to.
Rachel asked whether I had read every page.
I didn't answer immediately.
I tried to remember.
I remembered reading the information that had been explained to me.
I remembered the forms being presented as necessary.
I remembered signing where I had been directed.
But I couldn't honestly say that I had understood every page.
I couldn't even remember every document.
There had been so much information connected to IVF.
There were appointments and instructions.
There were medical details I needed to understand.
There were decisions that seemed straightforward because Peter and I had discussed them together.
I had trusted that the paperwork matched what we had agreed to do.
I told Rachel that.
She looked at me.
I could see tears in her eyes.
She seemed to be thinking carefully about what I had just said.
I felt ashamed.
Not because I believed I had done something wrong.
Because I suddenly wondered how much I had failed to notice.
I had signed documents.
I had trusted Peter.
I had accepted the clinic's explanations.
And now I was unable to answer a basic question about what I had agreed to.
Rachel leaned closer.
She told me I had no reason to suspect him.
She reminded me that Peter was my husband.
He had been part of every step.
I had trusted him because that was what people did when they built a marriage together.
She told me not to blame myself.
I wanted to believe her.
But the questions kept coming.
Had I signed something I hadn't understood?
Had Peter arranged everything before I knew what was happening?
Had the clinic handled the paperwork in a way that made it possible for him to conceal the truth?
I didn't know.
And the fact that I didn't know frightened me.
Rachel held my hand.
I looked at the hospital bed.
I looked at the photographs.
Then I looked toward the door.
I was still trying to accept that the man I had expected to see at the end of that afternoon was the same man I had heard speaking inside the lounge.
I thought about the home outside Boston.
The three sleeping spaces I had imagined.
The little clothes I had pictured folding.
The conversations Peter had had with my stomach.
Everything seemed different now.
I didn't know whether he had ever meant those things.
I didn't know whether he had been pretending every time he spoke about our future.
I didn't know how long he had been keeping the arrangement from me.
I only knew what I had heard.
And I knew I couldn't return to believing what I had believed that morning.
A nurse came into the room.
She checked on me and spoke about my monitoring.
Then she told me Peter was waiting to see me.
My whole body stiffened.
I looked at Rachel.
She moved her chair closer to the bed.
I didn't want him inside.
I didn't want to hear his explanation.
Not yet.
Perhaps not at all.
I told the nurse I didn't want Peter admitted to the room.
She accepted my answer.
Rachel stayed beside me.
She promised she wasn't leaving.
That mattered more than I could explain.
I had spent years believing Peter was the person who would stand beside me through anything.
Now my sister was the one sitting beside my hospital bed.
And I was grateful.
I didn't know what Peter intended to say.
I didn't know whether he would deny the conversation or try to explain it.
I didn't know whether he would pretend that the men had been joking.
But I knew I wasn't ready to face him.
I needed time.
I needed answers.
Most of all, I needed to know that the three babies were safe.
The hospital room was quiet again after the nurse left.
Rachel remained in her chair.
I rested my hands on the bed.
The ultrasound photographs were nearby.
I couldn't bring myself to look at them for long.
Then my phone began receiving messages.
One after another.
Peter.
I stared at his name on the screen.
The man I had wanted to surprise that afternoon was now trying to reach me.
I didn't answer.
I didn't know what to say.
For the first time in our marriage, I didn't feel that I owed him an immediate explanation.
I had gone to the hotel carrying pictures of the children I thought we were having together.
I had left knowing that my husband had described a completely different future.
And now he was outside the hospital room, while I lay inside with three heartbeats still being monitored.
Rachel reached for my hand again.
I let her hold it.
The messages continued.
I left the phone where it was.
The End
Read more original stories on Feel Every Story.
Three Heartbeats Had Made Me Believe Our Marriage Was Finally Becoming Everything We Had Hoped It Would Be
Part 4 of 4
