The envelope from the clinic was still sitting there. Everything suddenly made sense. The secret phone calls, the appointments, the strange explanations, the distance. She hadn't been confused. She had been preparing.
Did you already sign anything? Some paperwork. Anna, I'm sorry. Did you sign a surrogacy agreement? Yes.
I felt something inside me go completely still. You actually signed a contract. I didn't think you'd understand. You didn't give me the chance to understand. She said nothing.
I looked through the window at the street outside. six years of marriage, six years of building a life together. And my wife had just told me she was in another state carrying a pregnancy that she had arranged behind my back. Listen carefully, I said. Her crying stopped. If you go through with this, I'm filing for divorce.
There was a long silence. You don't mean that. I do. Larry, this is my sister. I know.
She's my family and I'm your husband. I thought you'd eventually understand. "I understand perfectly," she whispered. You'd really throw away six years. I shook my head even though she couldn't see me.
You threw them away when you decided you didn't need me for this decision. She started pleading. I can come home. Not tonight. Please.
You've already made your choice. I ended the call. I didn't throw anything. I didn't punch a wall. I didn't call Margaret and confront her.
I simply sat at the kitchen table and opened my laptop. If Anna had been planning this for weeks, I needed to know exactly what I was dealing with. I searched through our shared accounts. There were several recent charges from a fertility clinic. Then I found airline tickets.
Anna hadn't booked the San Diego trip three days ago. She had purchased them 11 days earlier. There were also hotel reservations for Clare and Gregory. All three had traveled together. Then I found something worse.
A payment to a law office that specialized in reproductive agreements. The appointment had been scheduled almost a month earlier. Anna had lied to me repeatedly. This wasn't an impulsive decision. It was a plan.
I called a divorce attorney that evening. His name was Robert Lawson. I explained the situation without exaggerating anything. He listened carefully. Then he asked me one question.
Do you have proof she knowingly concealed this from you? I have the bookings, the clinic charges, and the messages. Keep everything. I will. Don't threaten her.
Don't empty accounts illegally. Don't do anything that could hurt your position. I won't. He paused. Then start separating your finances legally and document everything.
I looked at the dark window in front of me. For the first time since Anna left, I knew exactly what I was going to do. She had made her choice. Now I was going to make mine. Anna stayed in San Diego for six more days.
During that time, she called me almost every evening. I stopped arguing with her. That seemed to confuse her more than anything else. On the third night, she asked, "Are you really not going to talk to me about us? We've already talked.