Ele é a Luna

Selena didn’t make a scene when the truth dawned on her. She didn’t cry or break down. She just did what she always did: she checked the facts. Her world revolved around proof, which included timestamps, signatures, and records. Data didn’t pretend or twist words; it never lied and was always valid.

The Geneva Summit was still echoing behind her as she left, applause trailing off, while Marcus kept basking in the spotlight. She barely glanced back. She couldn’t afford emotion, not right now. She needed a clear head.

Inside the executive suite, the silence felt almost surgical. Selena went straight to the terminal, working through login, authentication, override, her routine, no hesitation. She typed in the embryo ID she’d memorized from the screen.

E-419-KB.

Of course, the system didn't bring out any data. She entered the code she knew by heart, though she’d never wanted to use it for this.

MK-7713.

The screen was loading. She scanned every detail: maternal registry SH-419, paternal code MK-7713, successful live birth. Age: four years.

Her breathing slowed. Her face stayed still.

Four years. Exactly the timeline of the pregnancy she’d grieved.

She scrolled. Transfer date: April 18.

Selena leaned back, connecting dates in her head. She’d started bleeding on April 20. The pain, the confusion, that emptiness, she remembered all of it. But now, staring at hard evidence, it all reassembled. This wasn't a loss. It was a choice.

Her pregnancy hadn’t failed. Someone had taken it.

Clarity came over her, cold and absolute.

She heard Marcus come in, so quiet, so controlled. He was angry, not afraid. That told her enough.

She turned, locking eyes with him, referencing the file, her registry, the transfer. She asked for confirmation once.

He didn’t hold back. “Yes.”

She didn’t flinch. It anchored her.

She stared a moment longer. Then, sharply: “You extracted my embryo without my consent.

Marcus tried to rewrite the story, saying her pregnancy was at risk and that the extraction was necessary. But she wasn’t buying it. She saw the formula behind his words, the cold logic. He’d never been saving anything. He was controlling it.

She went back to the screen and opened the development file. A photo appeared, a young boy with sharp eyes, and her features. A quiet jolt of recognition. 

Her son. 

Marcus was speaking, but to be honest, she wasn’t listening; she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.

He kept spinning his version, calling it their success and legacy, something they’d accomplished. Selena ignored him. She saw the gap between his justification and reality. That gap swallowed everything.

She faced him again. Calm, but final: “You didn’t save him. You took him.”

Marcus faltered, just for a second. That hesitation broke it wide open. He knew. He’d always known.

Selena grabbed her phone. She’d stopped caring about what he admitted. Now, it was all about what she could prove.

At the door, she paused. “Next time, hide your authorization code.”

And she left

By the time Selena got to Zurich, the shock had burned itself out, replaced by something ruthless: focus.

The Kingsley Biologics archive flashed open just after two AM. She knew this interface, but she wasn’t wandering anymore. She was hunting.

The document appeared:

Executive Override Authorization.

Protocol 7B.

Marcus signed it.

April 11.

She stared at the date. Nine days before her miscarriage. Nine days before anything had happened. Nine days before, he’d decided.

This wasn’t a reaction. It was premeditated.

She dug into the metadata. Marcus was at the office till late at night. She remembered he'd come home withdrawn that night. Now she saw why.

None of this was by accident.

Selena moved fast, breaking into linked files, bypassing blocks she’d designed herself years ago. Once in, she scanned the records.

Diagnosis: spontaneous hormonal decline.

Outcome: non-viable pregnancy.

Clean. Convincing. Completely false.

She pulled the hormone data from April 17. Numbers told the story—low progesterone, falling hCG—the scientific groundwork for her supposed miscarriage.

But she didn’t stop there.

She found the system logs, filtered for changes. The record showed an original upload, then an edit just hours later.

The edit came from Marcus.

Her heart didn’t race because of surprise; it was pure confirmation.

She dug out the archived original report, the one hidden behind edits. This time, the numbers blew the whole lie apart.

Progesterone: normal.

hCG: rising.

Stable pregnancy.

Selena stared at that screen, hands frozen.

“My body was fine,” she whispered.

Perfectly fine.

Everything after that was crafted, engineered.

Her phone rang. Marcus’s name glowed on the display. She let it ring once, then answered, voice steady.

She didn’t ask questions. She stacked facts to him, the dates, the authorization, the altered labs. Marcus didn’t even try to deny it now. He justified, leaning into big words like preservation, unpredictability, and outcomes.

She heard what mattered.

He decided first. Then built the evidence around his plan.

Her voice cut through. Calm, firm: “You modified my labs to justify extraction. That’s not medicine.”

Marcus reframed again and called it innovation, necessity. He reminded her of the company, their legacy, and the risks if this exploded in public. He thought those things would still mean something to her.

He was wrong.

Selena no longer saw herself inside what he’d built. She was now the evidence he’d tried to bury.

When the call ended, the silence in her room felt different; it was clear, not heavy. She went back to the screen, reviewing the timeline once more.

April 11—authorization signed.

April 17—pregnancy stable.

April 18—data tampered with.

April 20—miscarriage.

The details left no doubt.

This wasn’t random. It was scheduled.

An alert flashed. Marcus, remote access, trying to lock her out. Selena just smirked, encrypted every file he’d never touch, every log, every trail.

She had control now.

Before she shut it all down, she opened the original lab report once more, eyes on the numbers that told the truth her body had known.

Nothing was wrong.

She closed her laptop with a slow, steady hand. That simple truth turned her world upside-down.

Her miscarriage wasn’t a tragedy.

It was a decision.

And Marcus had signed it off before she ever felt a thing.