Chapter 5
Cassandra went completely still.
“How?”
I asked.
My mother finally met my eyes.
“You remember the weekend before you and Cassandra separated?”
I thought back.
There had been dinner at my mother’s house.
A charity event.
Sunday brunch.
“Yes.”
“She became ill during dinner.”
Cassandra frowned.
“I had a migraine.”
“That is what you told everyone.”
“That’s what it was.”
“Perhaps.”
My mother’s voice remained gentle.
“But I noticed you didn’t touch the wine. You barely ate. And the next morning, you looked unwell again.”
Cassandra stared at her.
“You guessed I was pregnant?”
“I wondered.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
My mother’s hands tightened around the gloves.
“The following week, I received a call from Dr. Halpern.”
I knew the name.
Our family physician.
Cassandra’s expression hardened.
“Why would my doctor call you?”
“He wasn’t your doctor.”
“No. But his office was in the same medical group as the clinic Cassandra visited.”
The first edge entered my voice.
“You had access to her records?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then explain.”
“He did not discuss Cassandra’s medical information.”
“Then why did he call?”
My mother breathed in.
“Because of you.”
I blinked.
“What does that mean?”
She looked down at her hands.
“When you were twenty-six, before you met Cassandra, you had blood work done for a life insurance policy.”
I remembered vaguely.
Prescott Meridian had taken out key-person insurance after I joined the executive team.
“There was an abnormality.”
“What abnormality?”
My mother hesitated.
“Your father’s family carries a hereditary condition.”
Cassandra looked at me.
I felt strangely detached.
“What condition?”
“A cardiac rhythm disorder.”
My first reaction was disbelief.
“I don’t have a heart condition.”
“Not clinically.”
“What does that mean?”
“You carry a genetic variant associated with it.”
The room became very quiet.
I heard the heater click on.
My mother continued.
“Your father had the same variant.”
“My father died in a boating accident.”
“Yes.”
“Then what does this have to do with anything?”
“Nothing directly.”
“Mother.”
She sighed.
“The condition can be inherited. When your original testing came back, the physician advised additional genetic counseling before you had children.”
A cold sensation moved through me.
“No one told me that.”
“I know.”
Cassandra’s gaze snapped to Eleanor.
“You hid that too?”
My mother shook her head quickly.
“No. His father did.”
I stared at her.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he believed the information would make you anxious unnecessarily. You were twenty-six. Healthy. The variant did not mean you would become ill.”
“But it mattered if I had children.”
“Yes.”
I laughed once, quietly.
Not from humor.
“So everyone in this family has been deciding what I can handle.”
My mother’s face tightened.
“You have every right to be angry about that.”
“That is becoming a remarkably popular sentence tonight.”
“Damon—”
“No. Continue.”
She nodded.
“After your father died, I found the insurance records among his papers. I contacted Dr. Halpern and asked what they meant. He recommended you see a genetic counselor.”
“You never told me.”
“I intended to.”
“When?”
Her silence gave me the answer.
Eventually.
A word families often used when they were afraid.
Cassandra spoke softly.
“What made you connect that to me?”
My mother looked at her.
“Because you and Damon were serious. I knew he intended to propose.”
Cassandra glanced at me.
I looked away.
It was too late to hide that now.
“You knew about the ring?” she asked.
Eleanor gave a sad smile.
“I helped him choose it.”
Cassandra’s lips parted.
For a second, the mystery disappeared beneath an older heartbreak.
“You were going to propose?”
I nodded.
“When?”
“The Savannah trip.”
The trip I had canceled.
Cassandra looked toward the dark window.
“I didn’t know.”
“I never told you.”
“No.”
The room held that loss quietly.
Then Eleanor continued.
“When you became ill at dinner, I worried. Not because I was certain you were pregnant. Because if you were, I knew there was medical information neither of you had.”
Cassandra frowned.
“So why not tell us?”
“I wanted Damon tested again first.”
I stared at her.
“You arranged testing without me knowing?”
“No. I asked Dr. Halpern to review the old results.”
“Still without me knowing.”
“Yes.”
She did not defend herself.
That almost made it worse.
“What did he say?”
“That newer research had changed how the variant was interpreted. He wanted a fresh sample and a proper family history before making any recommendations.”
“And then Cassandra called Miles.”
“Yes.”
“Pregnant.”
“Yes.”
I folded my arms.
“So you panicked.”
My mother’s expression tightened.
“Yes.”
The admission stopped me.
Eleanor Prescott did not use that word.
Not about herself.
Not ever.
“I believed I had perhaps days to understand whether your children could be at risk. You were overseas. Langford was unstable. You and Cassandra had separated. I thought if I brought you half-understood medical information while everything else was collapsing, you would react impulsively.”
Cassandra spoke.
“By reaching out to me?”
My mother looked at her.
“Yes.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because before I could, I learned something else.”
The hairs on my arms rose.
“What?”
My mother looked toward the children.
“I learned the genetic result in your original file might not have been yours.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The insurance company had archived records from multiple executives tested through the same clinic. There was a discrepancy in the identification numbers.”
Cassandra leaned forward.
May you like
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the sample labeled Damon Prescott may have belonged to someone else.”
