“Someone with regular access to Sophie’s food, drinks, or supplements administered it,” Dr. Patel said softly.
Memories flooded in: Victoria pressing cup after cup of her “calming” herbal tea on me, replacing my prenatal vitamins with a new bottle she insisted was “better,” watching me swallow every pill.
Nathan’s face crumpled. He knew.
But the doctor wasn’t finished.
“We ran routine tests on you as well, Mr. Harlow. You have a severe oligospermia combined with a genetic translocation. Natural conception has been medically impossible for years.”
I stared at my husband—the man I thought I knew completely.
“You knew,” I breathed.
He couldn’t look at me. “I was terrified you’d leave if you found out.”
It all snapped into place.
Victoria hadn’t believed I was after money.
She believed I had cheated—and that the baby was proof.
That was why she tried to kill me.
The police arrived that afternoon. I gave my statement between waves of pain medication. Nathan gave his, choking on the words “my mother” every time. By the next morning, Victoria Harlow was in handcuffs, still screaming that she had only been protecting her son from a scheming liar.