Death's Door. Meryl Sawyer
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He raised you and loved you and made you who you are. Still, he might not be your biological father.”
She jerked her hand away from his once more and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming it wasn’t true. “It’s not true,” she managed to say in an even tone. “When Dad was dying, we discussed everything. He would have told me.”
Rob offered her a sympathetic smile. “Not if he thought it would change the way you thought about him.”
Madison didn’t believe this—not for one second. “My father died of pancreatic cancer. He was in tremendous pain and they put him on large doses of painkillers. I doubt he could have resisted telling me the truth. He knew I’d love him regardless. The last words I whispered to him were I am who I am because you loved me.”
Rob took another forkful of food and ate it before saying, “Is there any chance he didn’t know?”
She remembered the transcript. Her mother seemed to have gone to the clinic initially without her father’s knowledge. From the way the nurse had sounded in the transcript, Madison had assumed her father’s consent would have been required. If—and it was still a really big if in her mind—her mother had gone through with the procedure.
“I think the clinic required both parents to sign the consent form.”
“Not true of single mothers, of course.”
“Of course,” she muttered, and put down her fork. Why was she even considering the possibility? She knew she was her father’s daughter.
“A paternity test would prove—”
“I know.” She ground out the words. “I know.” The stricken look on his face upset her. “Sorry I snapped. This investigator keeps pressing me. I truly believe there’s some hidden agenda here.”
“It’s okay.” He reached over and stroked her hand with his fingertips. “There is an agenda. This Holbrook guy is filthy rich. How much do you want to bet that he’s paying the investigator a bundle of dough to locate his donor-conceived child? So she can be tested to see if she could save his life.”
“I don’t know why, but I feel there’s another reason.”
“Madison, I realize you don’t want to accept this, and I’m not saying it’s true, but I can’t imagine why a man like Wyatt Holbrook would waste his time unless he believed you were his daughter.”
She had to admit that she agreed. “You’re right. I’m sure that man thinks I’m one of his children.”
“One?”
“Doesn’t the fact he donated sperm once suggest he did it several times since he needed the money? I’ve read up on it. A single donation of sperm can be divided and used more than once.”
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