Chapter 6 The Blood Color Truth

The twins refused to go to sleep with a stranger in the house. After their bath, they huddled together on their shared bed, whispering and occasionally peeking out at Daniel, who waited patiently at our small kitchen table. I couldn't blame them for their wariness—I'd spent three years teaching them to be cautious of precisely this scenario.

"One story," I negotiated, "then sleep."

They nodded solemnly, and I told them a gentle tale about a family of birds finding their way home. Throughout the telling, I felt Daniel's presence in the doorway, watching and listening. When their eyes finally closed, I tucked the blanket around them and joined him in the kitchen.

He'd made coffee—finding cups and filters in my sparse cabinets as if he belonged here. The domesticity of it was jarring after years of seeing him as a distant threat.

"They're beautiful," he said, sliding a mug toward me. "Healthy."

"No thanks to the circumstances of their birth," I replied, accepting the coffee but keeping the table between us. "How's Sophie?"

Daniel's expression darkened. "Not good. The cancer returned six months ago, more aggressive than before. We've tried everything—experimental treatments, immunotherapy, even a trial in Sweden."

"And none of it worked," I finished for him.

He shook his head. "Her body seems to be rejecting all conventional approaches. The doctors believe another bone marrow transplant is her best hope, but this time from the original donor—you—rather than cord blood derivatives."

"I already agreed to donate through the registry," I said. "You didn't need to track us down for that."

"I needed to find you for more than just the donation," Daniel said quietly. "I needed answers. Three years, Bella. You disappeared with my children."

"To protect them," I countered. "Or have you forgotten what happened in that operating room? What you and Victoria had planned for their future?"

Daniel's jaw tightened. "I never approved any long-term harvesting plan for the twins. That was Victoria's idea, not mine."

"An idea you never bothered to contradict," I shot back. "I heard the recording, Daniel. 'Only Sophie matters. The twins are just a means to an end.' Your exact words."

"I never said that," he insisted. "That recording was fabricated by Victoria."

I laughed bitterly. "And I'm supposed to believe you now? After everything?"

"No," he said, surprising me with his honesty. "You have no reason to believe anything I say. That's why I brought this."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flash drive, placing it on the table between us.

"What's this?" I asked suspiciously.

"Evidence. Security footage from my office the day that recording was supposedly made. It shows Victoria alone at my computer with an audio program open." He pushed it toward me. "And there's more. Documents proving she falsified medical records, emails discussing her plan to use the twins as ongoing donors without my knowledge."

I stared at the flash drive but didn't touch it. "If this is true, why didn't you stop her?"

"Because I didn't know," Daniel said, running a hand through his hair—a gesture of frustration I remembered from our brief marriage. "I was so focused on saving Sophie that I delegated too much to Victoria. I trusted her because of our history, because she claimed to love Sophie as her own."

"She stole my eggs," I reminded him. "Created Sophie without either of our consent."

"Yes," Daniel agreed grimly. "A fact I didn't discover until after you disappeared."

I narrowed my eyes. "Explain."

Daniel took a deep breath. "After you left with the twins, I was... not in a good place. I accused Victoria of driving you away with her talk of 'Phase Two.' She denied it at first, then finally admitted everything when I threatened to cut off her access to Sophie."

"Everything?" I prompted.

"How she stole your eggs during your appendectomy. How she used my stored sperm sample—taken during my cancer treatments in college—to create embryos without my knowledge. How she implanted herself with one of those embryos, but miscarried, then somehow arranged for a surrogate to carry Sophie to term."

My mind reeled with the implications. "So Sophie really is—"

"Biologically our daughter," Daniel finished. "Yours and mine. Created without either of our consent, but ours nonetheless."

I gripped the edge of the table, feeling dizzy. "I suspected, when I saw the HLA match, but I couldn't understand how—"

"Victoria was obsessed with having my child," Daniel explained. "When natural methods failed, she took matters into her own hands. She was working at the university fertility clinic during our senior year—the same year you donated bone marrow to me."

"And she had access to my medical records," I whispered, the pieces finally clicking into place. "She knew I was your donor. She orchestrated everything."

Daniel nodded grimly. "Including our marriage. When Sophie relapsed three years ago, Victoria suggested you specifically as a potential surrogate for a cord blood donor. She knew the genetic compatibility would be perfect because you were Sophie's biological mother."

"But you didn't know that when you proposed our arrangement," I said, trying to understand the timeline.

"No," he admitted. "I only knew you were a bone marrow match for Sophie. Victoria convinced me that was enough of a genetic connection to make you an ideal surrogate. She orchestrated our 'chance' meeting in the emergency room when Sophie was admitted."

I stood up abruptly, needing to move, to process this avalanche of revelations. "So our entire marriage was based on Victoria's manipulation."

"The foundation was," Daniel acknowledged. "But what happened between us—"

"Was a business transaction," I cut him off, unwilling to explore any deeper implications. "One that nearly killed me and put our children at risk."

Daniel flinched at the reminder. "I swear to you, Bella, I never authorized that experimental collection procedure. Rodriguez was working with Victoria behind my back."

"You expect me to believe you had no knowledge of a procedure performed in an operating room where you were present?" I challenged.

"I wasn't there," Daniel said quietly. "Victoria told me you'd requested I stay away from the delivery. That you didn't want me there."

I stared at him incredulously. "And you believed her?"

"It fit with how hostile things had become between us," he said, looking away. "I was in Sophie's room during your C-section, waiting for news of the collection. By the time I learned what had actually happened in that OR, you were already in recovery and Rodriguez was assuring everyone the bleeding was under control."

I wanted to dismiss his explanation as another manipulation, but something in his expression—raw pain and genuine regret—gave me pause.

"Prove it," I said suddenly, gesturing to the flash drive. "If you have evidence Victoria was behind everything, show me."

Daniel nodded, and I retrieved my laptop from the counter. As I scrolled through the files—security footage, email exchanges, medical records with obvious alterations—a sickening certainty grew in my stomach. The evidence was comprehensive and damning.

Most disturbing were Victoria's research notes on a private server, detailing her long-term plan for the twins: regular stem cell harvesting, bone marrow extractions every six months, possibly even organ tissue donation if Sophie's condition deteriorated to affect other systems.

"My God," I whispered, closing a particularly disturbing file outlining how the twins' growth would provide increasingly valuable stem cell sources. "She was planning to use them as living donor banks."

"She's been removed from Sophie's care team," Daniel said firmly. "And legally barred from any contact with any of the children. I filed charges, but she fled the country before they could be processed."

I looked up from the screen, studying his face for any sign of deception. "Why did it take you three years to find us if you knew I was trying to protect the twins from Victoria?"

"Because you covered your tracks well," Daniel admitted. "And because for the first year, I wasn't sure if finding you was the right thing to do. Sophie was in remission. The twins were with their mother. Perhaps it was better to leave you in peace."

"What changed?"

"Sophie's relapse," he said simply. "And this."

He pulled out his phone, opening a photo gallery and passing it to me. The screen showed hundreds of pictures—three years' worth of Sophie's life that I had missed. Sophie blowing out birthday candles, Sophie in a hospital bed reading books, Sophie drawing pictures labeled "My Family" with stick figures representing her, Daniel, and two smaller figures labeled "My Brother" and "My Sister."

"She never forgot them," Daniel said quietly. "Or you. She asks about you constantly."

Tears welled in my eyes as I swiped through the images. "You told her about me?"

"I told her the truth—that you're her mother. That you gave her life twice—once when she was born, though neither of us knew it then, and again with your bone marrow donation in college."

I handed the phone back, unable to look at any more without breaking down completely. "Where is she now?"

"At New York Presbyterian. They're preparing her for the transplant, assuming you're still willing."

"Of course I am," I said without hesitation. "I'll do whatever it takes to save her."

Daniel's relief was palpable. "Thank you."

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of our shared history and Sophie's precarious future hanging between us.

"I need to show you something," I said finally, standing up. I went to the small closet in the hallway, pulling out a worn cardboard box from the top shelf. "This is everything I've collected about Victoria over the years."

I placed the box on the table, removing the lid to reveal neatly organized folders. "Medical records I managed to access through back channels. Witness statements from nurses who observed her behavior at the hospital. Financial transactions linking her to several experimental fertility clinics with questionable ethics."

Daniel looked stunned as he flipped through the documents. "You've been building a case against her."

"I needed to understand what happened," I explained. "And I needed evidence, in case she ever tried to claim rights to the twins."

"You thought I would let her?" Daniel asked, sounding wounded.

"I didn't know what to think," I admitted. "The last time I saw you, you were working with her to harvest my children's cord blood while I hemorrhaged on an operating table."

He flinched, but didn't deny the essential truth of the statement. "I failed them," he said quietly. "I failed all of you. I was so focused on saving Sophie that I couldn't see what was happening right in front of me."

I studied him across the table—this man who had been both my greatest adversary and, briefly, my husband. "Why are you really here, Daniel? You could have arranged the bone marrow donation through the registry without ever seeing me again."

"Because Sophie needs more than your bone marrow," he said, meeting my gaze directly. "She needs her mother. And her siblings."

"You want us to come back," I realized aloud. "All of us."

"I want my family together," he confirmed. "All of my family."

"It's not that simple," I protested. "The twins have no idea who you are. They've never known a father."

"They could," he said simply. "If you gave me a chance."

"And what happens after Sophie recovers?" I challenged. "Do we go back to your original plan—divorce, separate lives, joint custody on paper but not in practice?"

"No," Daniel said firmly. "That was never my plan, Bella. That was Victoria poisoning everything she touched."

"Then what is your plan?" I demanded.

He hesitated, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded document. When he spread it on the table, I recognized it immediately—our marriage contract.

"I brought this to tear it up," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "To ask if we could start over. Not with contracts and conditions, but with the truth."

"Which is?"

"That Sophie is our daughter—yours and mine. That Lily and Matthew are our children too. That we created a family in the most twisted, backwards way imaginable, but it's still a family." He took a deep breath. "And that I've spent three years realizing what I lost when you disappeared—not just my children, but you."

I shook my head, unwilling to be swayed by pretty words after everything that had happened. "You never wanted me, Daniel. You wanted a genetically compatible incubator for cord blood."

"That's how it started," he acknowledged. "But not how it ended. Why do you think I was so desperate to find you? Why do you think I kept this?"

He rolled up his sleeve to reveal a worn leather cuff bracelet. When he removed it, I gasped. The bite mark I'd left on his ring finger during a particularly heated argument was still there—faded to a silvery scar but unmistakable.

"I could have had it removed," he said quietly. "Plastic surgery would have eliminated it completely. But I kept it as a reminder."

"Of what?"

"That you were the only person who ever stood up to me. Who challenged me. Who made me question whether the end always justifies the means." His voice dropped lower. "The only woman who ever made me feel something real."

I stood up abruptly, overwhelmed by his words and the intensity in his eyes. "I need to check on the twins."

He nodded, understanding my need for space. "Bella, regardless of what you decide about us, Sophie needs you. All three of you. Please consider coming back to New York, at least until she's recovered."

I paused at the doorway to the bedroom, looking back at this man who had once been the center of my universe—first as an object of secret devotion in college, then as an adversary, then as a husband in name only, and now as... what? The father of my children, certainly. But anything more?

"We'll come to New York," I decided aloud. "For Sophie's sake. But I'm not making any promises beyond that."

"That's all I ask," Daniel said, relief evident in his voice. "A chance to make things right."

As I turned to go, he added softly, "There's one more thing you should know."

I paused, bracing myself for another revelation.

"The anonymous donor letters," he said. "The ones I wrote after my first bone marrow transplant in college. All 365 of them."

"What about them?"

"They were all to you," he said simply. "I didn't know it was you specifically, but I wrote to my donor every day for a year, thanking them for my life. Those letters are still in my desk drawer at home. I never sent them because the donation was anonymous, but... they're yours, if you want to read them."

The thought of Daniel—young, arrogant, brilliant Daniel from our college days—writing daily letters of gratitude to an unknown savior struck something deep inside me. A tiny crack in the wall I'd built around my heart.

"Let me think about everything," I said finally. "We have a lot to process before we make any decisions."

He nodded, and as I went to check on the twins, I heard the gentle sound of paper tearing—our marriage contract being reduced to confetti on my kitchen table. A symbolic end to one chapter of our story.

What the next chapter might hold, I wasn't yet ready to imagine.