For Our Children's Sake

“We had a direct swap of embryo. Our case is different.”

“What do you think will happen, Dominic?” Lucy asked, putting down her fork carefully.

“I don’t know—and I don’t like it. I hate having no control over what other people are deciding about my life.”

“What do you hope happens?”

This was it then. An irrevocable decision. Once made there could be no going back. Dominic leant forward. “I want you to marry me.”

The silence echoed around the table. For a moment Lucy wondered whether she’d heard him correctly. It wasn’t possible, was it? His eyes were watching her steadily, waiting for an answer. Color flooded into her ashen face. “But I don’t know you!”

Just like having a heart to heart with your best friend, these stories will take you from laughter to tears and back again!

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Harlequin Romance:

In the Shelter of His Arms (#3840) by Jackie Braun

A Family for Keeps (#3843) by Lucy Gordon

For Our Children’s Sake

Natasha Oakley

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To Nigel

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS all true. All of it. Until this moment Lucy Grayford hadn’t allowed herself to believe it. All the way from Shropshire she’d told herself there’d been some kind of mistake. Some different universe she’d stumbled into and would surely soon stumble out of. But, looking at the deeply troubled man opposite, she knew there’d been no mistake—not this time.

With immense effort she tried to concentrate on what he was trying to tell her. She could see his mouth moving and yet it was so difficult to take the words in. What they really meant. To her. To Chloe.

‘Genetically, Chloe isn’t your child,’ Dr Shorrock said carefully. Very, very carefully, she registered bleakly. Every word predetermined and carefully phrased. ‘The embryos implanted back into your womb belonged to another couple.’

It should hurt more.

Surely this kind of news was something you couldn’t stay sane through.

‘But…but I gave birth to Chloe.’ Her mind struggled to come to terms with what he was saying. She had given birth to Chloe. Eleven long hours and seventeen stitches later she’d had a seven pound, fourteen ounce little girl. She’d held her in her arms immediately after—red, wrinkled and unbelievably perfect. And hers.

From that moment her life had revolved around the miracle of her baby.

‘This is difficult to understand, Mrs Grayford, I know.’ The steady voice of Dr Shorrock faltered and his fingers shuffled nervously at his papers. ‘Whilst you carried Chloe to term, and gave birth naturally to her, both the egg and sperm belonged to another couple and—’

‘She’s mine,’ Lucy cut in. This was a nightmare. A hateful clawing nightmare. Slowly the full truth of what he was saying was beginning to penetrate her numb brain. He was trying to tell her Chloe didn’t belong with her. That she belonged to another couple.

But if they only knew her as an egg and a sperm surely she belonged with her? It had been her body that had carried her. Her body that had given her life. ‘She’s been my baby for six years. You can’t suddenly say you want her back. That—’

‘I’m sorry to say the error was more far-reaching than that.’

There was something about his expression that held Lucy silent. She almost didn’t let herself breathe. He’d already brought her world crashing down around her. What could be worse than what he’d already said?

‘At the time of the…error…you and your late husband had three good embryos stored at the same clinic.’

The pressure on her heart was almost unbearable as she waited for whatever he was going to say next. ‘Yes?’ she managed, forcing out the single word through dry lips.

‘All three were implanted into the womb of another woman and one resulted in the birth of a healthy baby girl.’

‘My baby?’ Her voice faltered.

‘Genetically the baby of yourself and your late husband. Yes.’

Lucy put one shaking hand up to her forehead, trying to rub away the pain that had begun to wrap an iron band around her head. It was impossible to take any of this in. This slightly pompous-looking man with his hair combed over the bald patch on his head was talking about errors and embryos, and yet what he was really talking about was lives. People’s lives. Their lives.

‘Naturally a full investigation will be undertaken. At this time I can only offer you our most profound apologies.’

She let her hand fall back into her lap. ‘I don’t understand. How…How could such a thing happen? It isn’t possible.’

‘Mistakes are extremely rare in embryology, but there’s always the risk of human error. All clinics are required to operate scrupulous labelling systems and to double check embryos before implantation. Although the clinic you attended did have all the correct protocols designed to prevent this from happening, as in all areas of medicine, sometimes things do go wrong.’

‘Do the other couple know? Have you told them?’

Dr Shorrock looked back down at his notes before returning his steady gaze to hers. ‘A blood test on their daughter showed she has a rhesus negative blood type which revealed there must have been an error. Both her birth parents are rhesus positive so it was obvious she couldn’t be their biological child.’

‘I’m rhesus negative.’ Her hands shook in her lap. She folded them tightly into fists and allowed her nails to dig into her palms. It was good to feel something other than the screaming pain ripping through her head. Please God…Oh, please God…No.

She knew what pain felt like. Knew exactly what it felt like to want the world to stop turning and everything disappear into blissful darkness. She’d thought she’d never recover from the agony of losing Michael and yet this was unbelievable. It was as though he’d died all over again and had taken with him the one thing—the one person—who’d been able to console her. The person who’d given her a reason to go on living. Breathing in and out until one day she’d suddenly felt alive again. Happy, even. And yet here she was back in a blackness she hadn’t even imagined existed.

‘This must be a mistake,’ she whispered. ‘This can’t be happening.’

Dr Shorrock lowered his eyes, as though he couldn’t bear to see the pain in hers. ‘I’m confident from the tests we’ve undertaken so far that there was a switch of embryos at the implantation stage. Possibly there was some confusion over the names. And yet—’ He broke off and shook his head in apparent disbelief. ‘I can’t give you accurate answers about how this might have happened. Not before we’ve undertaken a full investigation and I’ve received the report. While that’s still pending I want you to know the head of the unit has been suspended with immediate effect and all the appropriate authorities have been informed.’

As if she cared. The people at the clinic were people she didn’t know, didn’t care about. But still he went on, his face a picture of professional concern.

‘Obviously there’ll be many questions that need answers and I will be assiduous in asking them. The—’

‘What happens now? To Chloe and me?’

His cheeks puffed out. ‘Naturally we must have the well-being of the girls at the very centre of everything we do. There’s no definitive ruling on how a direct switch of embryos should be dealt with, although all rulings do suggest you will continue to have guardianship of Chloe during her minority.’

Guardianship? What did that mean? Chloe was her daughter. Had been from her first breath.

‘While the legalities are being debated in court you, yourself, will need to consider what you want to happen. Do you want access to your biological child or not? Ultimately there will have to be a legal ruling on who these children actually belong to.’

His words continued but Lucy was no longer interested. In her heart the words were pounding over and over again. Chloe’s not my daughter. Not my daughter. And yet she was. In every way that mattered Chloe was her daughter. She’d been the little warm figure who’d cuddled up in that lonely double bed during thunderstorms. She’d been the toddler she’d stayed up all night with when she’d had chicken pox. She was hers. Absolutely. And she would fight for her. With the very last breath she had in her body.

And her other baby? Hers and Michael’s. The baby who’d grown up being cuddled and cared for by other people—strangers. Slowly she felt the pressure on her heart increase in a tight, painful grip.

There were no easy answers to this. She felt the trickle of warm tears as they began to fall down her face. She was crying. She didn’t mean to be crying but the tears came without any help from her. One after another, pouring down her face—and yet soundless.

Dr Shorrock pushed a box of tissues across his desk. ‘I do realise how difficult this is for you, Mrs Grayford. For the time being I think you should give yourself a chance to assimilate everything I’ve told you. Meanwhile I will set in motion some of the things we’ve agreed upon.’

Agreed? Had they agreed on anything? Lucy really didn’t know. She pulled out a tissue and wiped the tears from her face. Pointless, really, as others soon replaced them.

He stopped to write something down in a large manila folder. ‘A nurse will give you a cup of tea and sit with you a while. I can only offer my sincere apologies on behalf of my colleagues and tell you I shall be in contact very shortly.’

Dominic Grayling sat on the graffiti-covered wooden bench outside the hospital, his gaze following the movement of people in and out without any real focus. He shouldn’t have come, and yet the temptation to be here had been irresistible. He’d told himself a million times since last Friday that the date and time he’d seen marked down on his file might pertain to anything, to anyone. And yet he hadn’t believed that, not deep down in his soul. As soon as he’d read what was written it had become inevitable he’d be here. Waiting.

He glanced down at his watch, and then back again at the doors to the hospital. It was late now. Perhaps he’d missed them. He’d been so sure he’d be able to recognise them when he saw them. They’d look like he had when he’d first understood what had happened. They’d be lost. Hurting.

He didn’t mean to talk to them. To make any sign at all. He just wanted to know what they looked like. Whether they were nice, he supposed. If he could imagine his biological child living with them and being happy. That would be enough. Surely that would be enough?

The doors opened with an automatic swish and he heard the soft brogue of an Irish accent asking, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to wait a while longer? I don’t like to see you leave like this.’

‘I just want to go home. I need to go home now.’

The other voice was strained, choking. It was a voice that touched him. Spoke to the hurt deep within himself.

He turned almost automatically and saw her. She was beautiful. Even though she’d been crying. Was crying, he noticed. She was still beautiful, with brown hair alive with auburn highlights. Curls softly framing an oval face. Exactly like his Abigail.

Dominic forced himself to look away and muttered a short expletive under his breath. He was beginning to go out of his mind. Seeing similarities where there weren’t any. London was full of women with dark hair. He might as well stand in Covent Garden and hold up a banner for all the good this was doing. He was looking for a couple.

And yet he was alone.

He turned back to watch the woman. Her olive-tinted colouring was similar to Abby’s and there’d been no one else who’d seemed possible. She’d pulled her black coat closely around her body and was desperately searching in her pocket for something. A tissue? And all the while her tears continued to fall.

It was her pain that made him watch her. It simply radiated from every pore. It felt like a mirror being held up to his own emotion. The devastating pain he had no words to describe accurately.

Her hand came out empty and she put her fingers up to her eyes, wiping away the trails of moisture. He couldn’t bear it—to see her pain and do nothing. He stood up and walked towards her hesitantly, before handing her a starched white handkerchief from his overcoat pocket.

She saw the flash of white before understanding what he was offering. ‘I’m sorry…I…I’ll be fine in a minute. I’m sorry. It’s just I…’

‘Take it. It’s just a handkerchief,’ he said curtly.

‘Thank you.’ Her fingers closed about it and she wiped at her eyes. Then, with a little confusion, she offered it back to him.

‘Keep it.’

She looked back down at the damp fabric in her hand. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, before saying helplessly, ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s nothing. My name is Dominic Grayling.’

She looked at him blindly. His name obviously meant nothing to her. Why should it? He wasn’t arrogant enough to assume she’d recognise it from the television documentary he’d made two years previously, and even if she were one half of the couple he’d hoped to see there was no reason she should know his name. The hospital had been scrupulous in keeping that information secret. He tried another tack. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’

She’d begun to shake her head even before he’d finished speaking. ‘Nothing. I’ll be fine. Thanks for this, though,’ she said with a small brave smile, before turning away to walk down the steps.

It was something in the way she smiled, or turned, perhaps, but he couldn’t let her go. Dominic quickly walked down the steps beside her. ‘I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I have to ask.’

She turned and looked back up at him, her brown eyes troubled and a little scared.

Dominic took a deep breath. He was going to sound stupid but he couldn’t let this chance escape him. Before they knew it they were going to be overtaken by people whose concern was the legalities. There was just a small chance for him to take control—now, before all their lives were blighted more than they already were.

‘Have you by any chance just been told your daughter isn’t yours?’ he asked in a rush, before his courage failed. He saw the way her mouth moved in a soundless exclamation and rushed on. ‘My wife and I received IVF treatment seven years ago and I’ve just discovered the embryo used…’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the words. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not even sure what I’m doing here.’

‘Lucy Grayford.’

Dominic turned back and looked at her.

‘My name is Lucy Grayford,’ she said slowly. ‘And, yes. Yes, I have.’

They stood in complete silence, each searching for some kind of truth in the face of the other. Dominic took a shaky breath. ‘I’m glad to meet you.’ He stepped down the final step. ‘My name is Dominic Grayling,’ he repeated, certain this time she’d actually heard him.

Her eyes never left his face. She was like a scared fawn. Her dark eyes were frightened and her whole body was tense.

‘I think perhaps we ought to talk.’

She nodded.

He wanted to put her at ease, and yet what could he say that would make this any easier to bear? It was as though a door had opened to hell itself. And here they were, two strangers brought together by a human tragedy with no easy way to navigate a path through it.

‘There’s a park around the corner. Perhaps that would be best. There’s a place to get coffee nearby. Perhaps that would be better than—’ He broke off again. They were complete strangers. Why should she agree to this? He could be anyone. Some strange crank. ‘Or would you rather leave it for another time?’ He reached into his pocket to pull out a notepad and pen. ‘I could give you my number. We could talk later. When you’ve had time to think about it.’ He started to write.

‘No.’ He looked up as she spoke. She shook her head firmly. ‘I don’t want to go home yet.’

That was a feeling he understood. He knew how hard it was to discover the child you loved, believed was your own, was not. And, knowing that, you then had to go home and pretend nothing had changed. That the centre of your world hadn’t been ripped out and shredded as though it were some discarded document. He’d walked out of this same hospital and wandered in the rain for over two hours before he’d summoned up enough courage to take himself back to Abby.

‘I’d rather talk.’

He nodded. With tacit agreement they turned and walked along the pavement. Despite her words neither spoke but, in the strangest way, the silence was comforting.

Lucy put her hands deep in her coat pockets and let the wind dry the tears on her face. The pain had settled deep within her heart and she felt cold. Frightened. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this.

Covertly she looked up at Dominic Grayling. In any other circumstances he might have been an attractive kind of man. Handsome, even. He was tall, loose-limbed and wiry, with an intelligent face and kind eyes. Not particularly like Chloe, though, she thought. She was much fairer; her hair was a shining curtain of ash blonde. Yet maybe there was something indefinably like her in this man. Perhaps in the shape of his face? An expression?

Who knew why she’d agreed to talk to him? Surely she’d have been more sensible to wait until the professionals were involved. They’d be able to work out a way through this nightmare. And yet…Dominic’s eyes told her he shared her pain, understood what she was feeling. Dr Shorrock, with all his calm, professional detachment, hadn’t even touched on the agony she was feeling.

‘We can get a coffee here.’

His deep voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up to see him pointing across the road at a narrow shop frontage with a chipped sign above reading Sarah’s Teas.

‘Fine.’

They crossed the road and Dominic held open the door to allow her to pass before him. The shop was full, a lunchtime crowd of busy, bustling people. Some were sitting round melamine tables reading newspapers over limp sandwiches. All infuriatingly normal. Yet here she was with her life in tatters.

‘How do you like your coffee?’

‘Coffee?’ she repeated stupidly, until her mind shifted back into gear. Oh, yes, she was going to have coffee. ‘White, one sugar.’

Lucy turned back to look at the room and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked normal. That surprised her. Was that what everyone else saw? How strange. Surely if the world as you knew it had just ended, something of that should show on your face? Was that why everyone had gone on and on saying how well she’d looked after Michael had died? It had puzzled her at the time.

‘Coffee.’ Dominic’s voice interrupted her as he held out a cardboard cup with a plastic lid on top.

Once again his eyes held complete understanding. They were nice eyes. Steely blue with golden flecks like sunshine. You could trust eyes like that. She took the cup. ‘Thank you.’

‘The park is round the corner. It’s not too far.’

Lucy didn’t care. She’d have followed him anywhere at this moment. Just knowing she didn’t have to make a decision was enough. Her brain couldn’t cope with anything. He wanted to walk in a park—she’d walk in a park.

It wasn’t much of a park. It was smaller than the ones near her home, surrounded by high iron railings and hemmed in by densely packed housing. The concrete walls of a nearby high-rise were covered with graffiti. An ugly place, she thought with a curious detachment.

‘We could sit on the bench over there,’ he said, and pointed at a wooden seat underneath some old oak trees. His kind eyes glanced down at her. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this to you. It’s too soon. You’re still in shock.’

‘I’ll always be in shock.’

An almost imperceptible nod of the head before he turned and walked towards the seat.

‘Do you want to tell me what they told you?’ he asked as she sat next to him.

Lucy shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet.’

‘No,’ he agreed, and in that one word she could feel his compassion.

She watched him take the lid off his coffee and sip.

He looked up and caught her watching. ‘Drink your coffee. At least it’s hot.’

‘Everyone seems to want me to drink something. The nurse back at the hospital kept wanting me to have tea.’

His smile was gentle. With fingers that trembled slightly she struggled with the plastic lid. Some of the hot liquid lurched over the side and scalded her fingers.

‘Steady,’ was all he said, reaching out to support her hand.

And then there was silence for a few moments before he began. His voice was quiet, deep and slightly husky.

‘My wife, Eloise, was born with a defective heart. She should never…I should never have—’

Lucy waited. For the first time his pain pierced hers. This man knew exactly how she was feeling. He knew because he was in the same nightmarish place. Here with her. No one else would ever be able to understand how bleak it was possible to feel. But this man—Dominic—knew. He really knew.

He began again. ‘Eloise always wanted children.’ He looked down and traced a pattern with his shoe on the dry mud. ‘But they never came. Month after month. There was nothing.’

Lucy sipped at the bitter coffee and waited as he struggled to get the words out. ‘We didn’t know about her heart then. Not then.’ He looked up at the trees. ‘Later we knew, of course, and we were told she shouldn’t ever have a baby. There was a ‘‘significant risk’’, they told us. But Eloise was desperate. Her life wasn’t ever going to be complete without children. I tried…’

She understood that desperation for a baby. Month after month of nothing. The feeling that somehow each month you’d lost your baby, even though your head told you there’d never been anything to lose. The sensation of life ebbing away, month after month. Lucy tried to think of something to say, some comfort.

‘I let her go for the IVF. When Eloise knew she was pregnant she was so excited. Couldn’t wait to have our baby.’ He pulled himself up straighter on the bench. ‘But there were complications during the Caesarean. She died giving birth to Abigail.’

Lucy hadn’t expected that. Her right hand, holding the coffee, shook. Died. Her first reaction was one of sympathy, immediate and intense. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’

‘Abby is everything I have.’

His head was bowed and she could see the weight of everything resting on his shoulders. His wife had died giving birth to a child that wasn’t his own—and yet he still loved his Abby. Her Abby. Just as she loved Chloe.