For several days, nothing happened.
The clinic continued reviewing the archived records.
Our attorney requested additional documentation.
Emily and I attended our scheduled prenatal appointments.
We tried to eat properly.
We tried to sleep.
We tried to talk about things other than Daniel.
Some days were easier than others.
One afternoon, Emily came over with a bag of baby clothes.
She had bought a tiny yellow sweater.
She held it up.
"Look at this."
I smiled.
"It's beautiful."
She placed it on the sofa.
"I thought we should start getting ready again."
I looked at her.
"Are you sure?"
She nodded.
"I don't want the investigation to take away every happy moment."
I understood.
We had spent so much time being frightened that we had almost forgotten we were still expecting children.
We sat together and sorted through the clothes.
There were tiny socks.
Small blankets.
A pair of soft white shoes.
I held one of the shoes in my palm.
It was difficult to believe that a real person would soon be wearing something so small.
Then my phone rang.
It was Mr. Collins, our attorney.
He asked whether Emily and I could come to his office.
Someone had contacted him with information about Daniel.
I looked at Emily.
She stopped folding the clothes.
"Who?"
He said he couldn't explain everything over the phone.
We agreed to meet him the following morning.
I spent the rest of the evening wondering who might have contacted him.
Could it be someone from the clinic?
Someone who had known Daniel?
Or someone connected to Rebecca?
The next day, Emily and I arrived at the attorney's office shortly before ten.
Mr. Collins welcomed us into a small meeting room.
There was another man sitting at the table.
He appeared to be in his late fifties.
He wore a dark jacket and held a brown envelope.
Mr. Collins introduced him as Michael Turner.
Michael explained that he had worked with medical record management years earlier.
He had recently learned that an investigation was being conducted into an old donor file.
He recognized the identification number.
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Do you know Daniel?"
Michael nodded.
"I knew someone connected to that name."
Emily leaned forward.
"Who?"
Michael looked at the envelope.
"Before I tell you anything, I need you to understand that some of the records I saw were never properly reconciled."
He explained that he had worked in an administrative capacity for a medical organization that had handled older biological sample records.
He was not a doctor.
He was not a genetic specialist.
But he had been responsible for checking documentation.
Years earlier, a file had been transferred under a donor identification number that appeared to have an inconsistent identity history.
He had flagged the issue.
Nothing meaningful had happened afterward.
I stared at him.
"Are you saying someone knew the records were wrong?"
He shook his head.
"I can't say what everyone knew. I can only tell you what I personally saw."
He opened the envelope.
Inside were copies of several old administrative pages.
One contained the same identification number we had seen at the clinic.
Another included a handwritten reference to Daniel Whitmore.
Emily picked it up.
"Why does this have his name?"
Michael explained that the name appeared in an older record associated with the sample history.
But there was no verified proof that the person named on the document had personally provided the sample.
That distinction was important.
Our attorney asked Michael whether he had any additional information.
Michael paused.
Then he explained that an individual had contacted him years earlier asking about the status of an old medical record.
He remembered the conversation because the person seemed unusually concerned about the identity attached to the file.
He could not confidently identify that individual.
But he remembered one detail.
The caller had mentioned Rebecca.
I looked at Emily.
"Rebecca?"
Michael nodded.
He said the caller had asked whether a woman named Rebecca Whitmore had ever requested information about the record.
I felt a chill.
Our mother had been searching for something.
Perhaps she had known more than she had told Margaret.
Perhaps she had been trying to establish whether Daniel's identity had been used.
Michael couldn't provide a definite answer.
But he agreed to give our attorney the copies he had kept.
Mr. Collins examined them carefully.
He explained that they would need to be authenticated.
The clinic would also need to compare the identification number with its own archived records.
Emily looked at Michael.
"Do you know whether Daniel is alive?"
Michael shook his head.
"I don't."
"Did you ever meet him?"
"No."
"Then how do you know about Rebecca?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"Because her name appeared in the records I was asked to review."
That answer left us with more questions.
But it was the first independent information we had received from someone outside our family and the clinic.
Our attorney thanked Michael.
He told him that he might be contacted again if further clarification was needed.
After Michael left, Emily sat quietly.
I looked at the documents.
The same identification number appeared on two different pages.
One was connected to the old family records.
The other was connected to the donor file.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to believe that the similarities were accidental.
But we still needed proof.
Mr. Collins explained that he would submit the documents to the clinic and request a formal review.
He also advised us not to contact anyone who might be connected to Daniel until the investigation was clearer.
I agreed.
On the way home, Emily looked out the window.
Then she turned toward me.
"Do you think Rebecca knew about the donor record?"
"I think she was trying to find answers."
"Maybe that's why she kept those letters."
I nodded.
We reached my apartment.
Emily helped me carry the baby clothes inside.
She placed the yellow sweater on the sofa.
Then she picked up Rebecca's photograph.
"I wish we could ask her what happened."
I looked at the picture.
"So do I."
That evening, I received another message from our attorney.
The clinic had agreed to review the new documents.
They had also located an additional archived record that might help establish the history of the donor identification number.
I read the message twice.
Then I put my phone down.
For the first time, I felt that the investigation was moving somewhere.
Not toward an answer we could choose.
Not toward the answer we wanted.
But toward the truth.
I looked at the tiny yellow sweater on the sofa.
I placed my hand over my stomach.
And I promised myself that whatever we discovered, our children would never have to grow up surrounded by the kind of silence that had followed us for twenty-five years.
Click here to continue reading: PART 13: The New Laboratory Report Arrived, but One Detail About Daniel Made Our Mothers Question Everything They Had Believed
The Promise Two Little Girls Made Twenty-Five Years Ago Was About to Change Both Their Lives Forever
Part 12 of 20
