The kitchen went silent.
Renata set her spoon down.
Penelope’s eyes went to the folder, then back to me.
“What are you talking about?”
“The parental rights section,” I said.
“The waiver language.
The clause about biological parentage differing from what was disclosed.” I kept my hands flat on the table.
“I’ve seen the filed version, Penelope.
I’ve had a family law attorney review it.”
“Where did you—” She stopped herself.
“And I know about the clinic visit,” I said.
“The second one.
The one you made alone, three weeks after you and Marcus had already chosen a donor together.”
Penelope stood up.
The movement was fast, involuntary, like something had pulled her upright.
“This is not what it looks like,” she said.
“Then tell me what it looks like,” I said.
“Because from where I’m sitting, it looks like you altered a legal document I signed, filed a different version without my knowledge, arranged for a donor substitution without telling your husband or me, and came to this lunch today planning to get me to sign away any right to challenge any of it.”
