I held Weston’s stare, and I waited to feel the old pain — the reflex of shame that had lived in me for four years — and it did not come.
For the first time in longer than I could remember, I felt nothing at all where the wound had been.
Only timing.
Chapter 12 — Four Years of Reports You Controlled
Weston recovered the way he always did, reaching for the tone of a reasonable man among hysterics.
“That’s impossible.
We spent four years trying.”
“We spent four years following reports you controlled,” I said.
His eyes flicked to Delphine — the first involuntary thing I’d ever seen him do — and I knew the others had seen it too.
I told them what the real records held: the normal reserve, the healthy body, the abnormal samples, the donor-sperm recommendation he’d buried in the first year.