Chapter 1 - The Number on the Screen
The backyard had been transformed into a sea of pink and white.
Clusters of balloons floated above the long tables, fresh roses surrounded the dessert stand, and warm string lights hung beneath the covered patio.
Everyone had been waiting for this moment.
Lauren stood in front of the enormous white gender-reveal cake, wearing a soft pink dress that shimmered beneath the afternoon sunlight.
Beside her, her husband, Mark, kept one protective hand on her shoulder.
“Ready?” he whispered.
Lauren tried to smile.
“I think so.”
Her mother, Diane Mercer, stood several feet away with the rest of the family.
Phones were already raised.
Someone began counting.
“Three!”
“Two!”
“One!”
Lauren pushed the silver knife through the thick white frosting.
The crowd leaned forward.
She slowly pulled the first slice away.
Bright pink cake appeared beneath the icing.
For half a second, there was complete silence.
Then everyone erupted.
“It’s a girl!”
Cheers filled the backyard.
Someone screamed with excitement.
A few relatives started clapping.
Mark immediately wrapped an arm around Lauren.
“We’re having a daughter.”
But Lauren didn’t celebrate.
Her hand froze around the knife.
Her face suddenly went pale.
Then tears filled her eyes.
Diane’s smile disappeared.
“Lauren?”
Lauren covered her mouth with one hand.
A tear rolled down her cheek.
Mark frowned.
“Hey.”
He squeezed her shoulder.
“What’s wrong?”
Lauren shook her head.
“Nothing.”
But her voice cracked.
Diane knew that expression.
That wasn’t happiness.
That was fear.
And then she noticed the baker.
The young woman who had delivered the cake that morning was standing near the edge of the table in her white chef’s jacket, black apron, and black baker’s cap.
She wasn’t smiling either.
She was staring directly at Lauren.
Worse—
she looked terrified.
Diane slowly turned toward her.
Their eyes met.
The baker immediately looked away.
Something cold settled in Diane’s stomach.
She stepped around the table.
“Excuse me.”
The baker glanced toward Mark before quickly moving closer.
“What is it?” Diane whispered.
The baker leaned toward her ear.
Her voice was so low that no one else could hear.
“I need to tell you something about that cake.”
Diane stiffened.
“What about it?”
The baker swallowed.
“Your son-in-law came to the bakery this morning.”
She glanced nervously toward Mark.
“He told me to change the filling.”
Diane stared at her.
“What?”
“He already knew the baby was a girl.”
The noise from the celebration seemed to disappear around them.
Diane looked back toward the table.
Mark was still standing beside Lauren.
One hand remained on her shoulder.
To everyone else, he looked like a concerned husband comforting his emotional wife.
But Lauren wasn’t looking at him.
She was staring at the pink layers inside the cake as though they had just exposed something she had desperately wanted to keep hidden.
Diane turned back to the baker.
“Why would he ask you to change it if it was already supposed to be pink?”
The baker’s face tightened.
“Because it wasn’t supposed to be pink.”
A chill moved through her.
“What color was it supposed to be?”
The baker hesitated.
Then she pulled her phone from her apron.
“I think you should see what he showed me.”
She opened a photograph.
Diane looked down.
And every bit of color drained from her face.
Because the document on the screen wasn’t a gender result.
It was a paternity test.
And beside the words PROBABILITY OF PATERNITY was a number none of them were prepared to see.
0.00%.
Diane stared at the number until it blurred.
“Whose test is that?”
The baker glanced over her shoulder again.
“Mark said it was his.”
Diane’s mouth went dry.
“You mean he tested the baby?”
“He didn’t explain. He just showed me the report and another page from the fertility clinic. He said the original order had to be changed from blue to pink, and he paid cash.”
“Blue?”
“Yes.”
The baker zoomed in on a second photograph.
At the top was the logo for Northbridge Fertility Center, the clinic where Lauren and Mark had spent almost four years cycling through blood tests, injections, procedures, and grief.
Beneath the logo was a line Diane barely understood.
EMBRYO 17-B.
PGT SEX: XY.
Diane blinked.
“That says male.”
The baker nodded.
“That’s why I didn’t understand him. The envelope your daughter gave us last week said blue. This morning he came in with a newer report saying the fetus was female.”
Diane looked back at Lauren.
Her daughter was no longer crying quietly.
She was arguing with Mark under her breath.
Diane could not hear the words, but she saw Lauren shake her head hard once.
Mark said something.
Lauren’s eyes widened.
Then she turned toward the house.
She made it three steps before one hand flew to the patio table.
A glass tipped over and shattered.
The party fell silent.
Mark reached for her.
Lauren jerked away.
“Don’t touch me.”
The words were not loud.
They didn’t need to be.
Every face turned toward them.
Mark froze.
Diane moved immediately.
“Lauren.”
“I need air.”
“You’re outside.”
“I need somewhere nobody is looking at me.”
Her voice came out thin and breathless.
Diane took her arm and guided her through the patio doors.
Mark followed.
The baker followed too.
Inside the kitchen, the cheers had become muffled confusion behind the glass.
Lauren braced both palms against the marble island.
Diane shut the door.
Then she looked at her daughter.
“Why did you expect that cake to be blue?”
Mark’s head snapped toward Diane.
Lauren went perfectly still.
The refrigerator hummed.
A loose pendant light above the island gave a faint metallic tick every few seconds, as if something inside it could not settle.
Tick.
Tick-tick.
Lauren closed her eyes.
“Mom.”
“Tell me.”
Lauren looked at Mark.
“Did you show her?”
Mark said nothing.
That was answer enough.
Lauren’s lower lip trembled.
Then she pulled a folded sheet of paper from inside the small handbag on the counter.
“I knew something was wrong three weeks ago.”
Diane took the page.
It was another Northbridge report.
Another number.
Another result.
But this time Diane understood the words before anyone had to explain them.
MATERNAL GENETIC CONSISTENCY: EXCLUDED.
May you like
She looked up slowly.
Lauren whispered, “The baby isn’t mine either.”
