My stepsister begged me to be her surrogate after years of failed IVF — but at 8 months pregnant, I overheard her on the phone saying, “She can’t find out the truth before the baby is born.”

“So do I,” I said.

He didn’t answer that.

“Marcus,” I said.

“The donor.

Did you know?”

A long silence.

“I suspected,” he said finally.

“About two months ago.

I found a receipt from the clinic.

A second visit, dated after we’d already made our selection together.

I asked Penelope about it and she said it was a billing correction.” He stopped.

“I didn’t push.

I should have pushed.”

“The donor was my brother,” I said.

The silence on his end was different this time.

Complete.

“I didn’t know that,” he said quietly.

“I swear to you, I did not know that.”

I believed him.

I didn’t know why, but I did.

“Don’t go to the pharmacy,” Joel said.

“Go back inside.

Act normal.

Let her think today is still going to go the way she planned.”

“Why?”

“Because we need her to show us that document herself,” Joel said.