Marcus smiled. “I’ll let my lovely wife explain it to you. I’m going out to hit some balls.”

Christine looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t mentioned he was going to the driving range. They’d had a quiet dinner, with her trying to keep down some light vegetable soup and him having a tuna fish sandwich and leftover cake.

Christine touched his arm. “Don’t you want to stick around? You can make your case.”

“No, I’ll leave you two to it.” Marcus kissed her on the cheek and opened the door. “Lauren, take care. Give my best to Josh and the kids.”

“I will, bye.”

“See you, honey.” Marcus shot her a final smile, then closed the door, and Lauren flared her eyes as soon as the latch had engaged.

“What is going on? Are you pregnant? Oh right, yes. What else is going on?”

Christine wished she could smile, but she felt wetness come to her eyes. “I’m worried about something.”

Lauren frowned, instantly concerned. “Oh no, are you serious? Is something the matter? Are you spotting? Should we call the doctor?”

“Oh, nothing like that, God no. Sorry. Come with me, upstairs.” Christine headed for the stairwell, getting back in control.

“Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Lauren fell into step beside her, and they climbed the stairwell together, Christine running her hand along the banister. She didn’t feel so nauseous anymore, but she was suddenly exhausted, which happened every night. She’d read that fatigue was typical during the first trimester, and there had been many nights when she couldn’t keep her eyes open as she did the paperwork required by her job. Tonight she was pretty sure she could keep her eyes open.

“Why are we going upstairs?”

“I want to show you something and ask you your opinion.”

“What is it?”

“Wait and see. I don’t want to say.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to prejudice you. Come in.” Christine turned on the light in Marcus’s home office, which he rarely used. One of the benefits to being an infertile couple was that they had a lot of spare rooms, having moved into their four-bedroom in Cornwell expecting to fill it with children.

“Why are we in Daddy’s office? I can’t remember the last time I was in here.”

“Because he has the biggest computer in the house.”

“Wow, it’s so ritzy. Did Greenwich explode in this room?” Lauren glanced around, taking in the neat bookshelves filled with engineering textbooks, job files from work, hardcover biographies, copies of Golf Digest, and an entire shelf of golf books. The window on the right side of the room had green plaid window treatments, and underneath was a strip of artificial turf with a white plastic cup at one end, his Callaway putting green.

“Sit down at his desk.” Christine gestured her into the mesh ergonomic chair at the sleek walnut desk, which boasted the latest-and-greatest iMac, with a twenty-seven-inch screen and retina display. Marcus used it for Excel spreadsheets from work and Madden golf video games, but tonight it was going to serve a more important function.

“Are you guys in a fight?” Lauren sat down, swiveling around like a kid in the chair.

“No.” Christine leaned over, palmed the mouse, and woke up the computer, which showed the landing page of SportsIllustrated*. She navigated to the CNN website and clicked on the story, which she noted hadn’t changed since the addition of the medical saw. She clicked on the video and enlarged it, without playing it. “I would like to show you a video. It’s the one they played in the teachers’ lounge today, of that serial killer they arrested in Pennsylvania.” Christine could barely bring herself to say the words. “Take a good look at the guy they arrested, a young blond man. Then I want to show you something else.”

“Okay.” Lauren turned her attention to the computer as Christine clicked PLAY. The video began the way it always did, with the police walking forward and out of frame, then came the prisoner.

Christine tried not to react as the blond man ducked into the police cruiser and looked up, which was when she reached over and clicked STOP to freeze the video. “You see that face?”

“Sure, yes.” Lauren nodded.

“Now I want to show you something else.” Christine slid her iPhone from the pocket of her jeans, swiped to the photo of Donor 3319 as an adult, and set it down on the desk. “Now, look at this. This is a picture of our donor.”

Lauren looked down at the phone, but said nothing, her expression impassive and her lips pursed.

“What’s your first impression?” Christine asked, holding her breath.

Lauren looked over at the screen, then back down at the photo, apparently double-checking.

“Well?”

“Well.” Lauren looked up, her forehead creased. “They look alike. I mean, they look a little like each other.”

“Right? I mean, it’s weird, you have to admit.” Christine had to force herself to say the words out loud. “Our donor looks like that serial killer.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Lauren swallowed visibly and palmed the mouse. The computer woke up, with the freeze-frame of the prisoner looking up.

“Let’s compare.” Christine picked up her phone, unlocked it, and held Donor 3319’s photo right next to the prisoner’s face on the monitor. “Please tell me they’re not the same guy.”

“No, they’re not.” Lauren shook her head, then threw up her hands. “I mean, obviously, your donor is not a serial killer. It’s just not possible.”

“That’s what Marcus says, and I know they screen these donors.” Christine’s words raced out, as if they were escaping pressurization. “Our donor is a medical student, and it doesn’t say this guy’s a medical student, but they did find a medical saw in his trunk.”

Lauren kept shaking her head. “It does look a little like him, I know why you’re saying this. But it’s not him. I mean, they could be brothers, for God’s sake. It could be anything. They don’t look exactly alike, for what that’s worth.”

“What difference do you see?”

“I think the guy they arrested has a narrower face. Like his face is thinner. The eyes look a lot alike, but blue-eyed people have those eyes. Round, pretty, blue. Like a doll. Goyische eyes.”