Chapter 3 - The Ultimatum
We moved into Paige’s daylight basement suite before dawn. The girls thought it was a spontaneous slumber party, though Ella’s solemn gaze told me she understood far more than her sisters did. I called my obstetrician’s office first thing Monday morning to document my blood pressure spikes, then turned off my phone’s ringer.
At noon, I returned alone to the Walsh house to gather essential legal documents, medical files, and winter coats for the children.
I didn't expect Carol to be waiting on the front porch.
She sat in the wicker rocking chair, wearing an immaculate beige trench coat and sunglasses, holding a slim leather folder in her lap. When she saw my car pull into the driveway, she didn't get up. She simply watched me approach with an expression of pinched disappointment.
“You didn’t answer Nathan’s calls,” Carol said coldly as I stepped onto the porch steps. “Running away like an undisciplined child over a family squabble. It’s embarrassing, Erin. The neighbors are asking questions.”
“Get off my porch, Carol.”
“It’s Dennis’s porch, technically,” she corrected smoothly, tapping the leather folder against her knee. “Dennis owns the corporate parent company that holds this parcel. But let’s not be petty. I came here as an olive branch.”
She opened the folder and held out a sheaf of printed brochures. I glanced at the glossy headers: *The Pacific Fertility Institute: Gender Selection and Pre-Implantation Genetic Diagnosis.*
“What is this?” I asked, a sick cold spreading through my veins.
“It’s the solution to this unnecessary drama,” Carol said, as matter-of-fact as if she were ordering groceries. “Nathan is the only son Dennis has. The Walsh name has stood for quality lumber and commercial development in this county for four decades. We cannot let it die out because of your biological limitations.”
“My limitations?” My voice was dangerously low.
“You’ve produced four girls, Erin. It is obvious your natural pregnancies lean that way. Dennis and I have spoken to Dr. Sterling at this clinic. We are prepared to pay the full sixty thousand dollars for two cycles of IVF with male embryo selection. You will have this baby by C-section next month, rest for nine months, and begin the protocol next autumn.”
I stared at her, genuinely horrified by the hollow calculation in her eyes. “Dr. Henderson explicitly told both Nathan and me that another pregnancy carries a thirty-percent risk of uterine rupture. I have extensive scar tissue from Molly’s birth. Another surgery could kill me.”
Carol waved a manicured hand dismissively. “Doctors exaggerate to avoid lawsuits. Modern medicine does miracles every day. A woman sacrifices for her family, Erin. My mother bore six children on a farm with no complaints. You deliver Nathan his son, and Dennis will immediately release twenty percent of the company shares into your personal name. Refuse, and you’ll find out very quickly how cold the world is when you have four dependents and no assets.”
She truly believed human life had a price tag. She believed my life was disposable currency to purchase her husband’s vanity.
I took the glossy brochures from her hands. Slowly, deliberately, I tore them in half, then quarters, and dropped the shredded paper onto her lap.
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“Tell Dennis to hire the best lawyers he can find,” I said. “Because I am going to tear down his little dynasty brick by bloody brick.”
***
