The medical report sat on my desk, the paper crisp and white under the desk lamp.

I stared at the embossed letterhead of the Mercer Clinic.

For nine years, I believed my body was incapable of fathering a child.

My mother, Eleanor, had handed me those original results herself, her face pale with simulated grief.

Now, a routine executive physical at a different hospital had revealed the truth.

My sperm count was entirely normal, and always had been.

I called Dr. Lionel Mercer’s private office three times, but his secretary kept blocking me.

I knew then that the first diagnosis had been a fabrication.

I drove out of Boston before dawn, the coastal highway shrouded in gray Maine fog.

My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned white.

Maren lived in a small, weathered shingle cottage overlooking the rocky shore of Camden.

Nine years ago, my mother had convinced me that Maren’s sudden pregnancy was proof of infidelity.

I had divorced her, bitter and broken, leaving her with nothing but her dignity.

I parked my car on the gravel driveway and walked up to the porch.

The wind carried the salt of the Atlantic and the faint scent of pine.

I knocked on the wooden door, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The door swung open, and Maren stood there.

She wore a faded woolen sweater, her dark hair pulled back in a loose clip.

Her eyes widened, the color draining from her cheeks.

“Adrian,” she whispered.

“Maren,” I said, my voice thick. “I need to talk to you.”

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, her hand tightening on the edge of the door. “We settled everything years ago.”

“I was lied to,” I said, holding up a manila envelope. “The fertility reports. They were faked.”

She stared at the envelope, her breath catching.

“What do you mean, faked?” she asked.

“My mother paid Mercer,” I said. “I never was infertile. The twins are mine, aren’t they?”

Maren closed her eyes, her shoulders shaking slightly.

A heavy silence settled between us, save for the sound of the waves crashing below.

“Yes,” she said softly, opening her eyes. “They are yours.”