Chapter 2: Demanding Answers

The screeching of the tires made Vanessa's back bounce on the seat as her grip tightened around the steering wheel.

“This better not be true.” She muttered,pressing her lips as she stared at the hospital's gate.

Her throat burned.

Was this marriage a lie even after she had forfeited her career? Was it a waste of commitment and effort?” She sucked her teeth, feeling the weight of the betrayal settle like a stone in her chest.

She grabbed her bag, and unfolded the document across her lap. As she scanned through the file for the umpteenth time, her fingers hoovered around. She swallowed hard, reached for the door handle and shoved it open.

The door slammed behind her.

Vanessa clutched the file in her hand, her heels clicking across the parking lot and through the automatic doors.

The sharp, pungent sterile scent of isopropyl alcohol mixed with antiseptic dettol and sweet acetone clung to her nostrils but she didn't flinch. Her eyes were too busy searching, scanning for direction. The receiving room. Receptionist. Anything. Anyone that could help.

When she spotted the receptionist office tucked inside the waiting room. She made her way over, pausing to smooth down her dress.

“Good day ma'am. How may I help you?” The receptionist greeted, her smile warm and welcoming.

“I'm…” Vanessa forced herself to breath, her hands still trembling. “I'm here to see someone in Genetics. Clinical Genetics.”

The receptionist blinked “Do you mean OB-GYN? Obstetrics and Gynaecology department?”

Vanessa glanced down st the document. “Reproductive Endocrinology. Or anyone who deals withpaternity testing.”

“Oh, I see, let me check who's available.”

“Anyone!” Vanessa’s voice cut through the quiet waiting room. Her jaw tightened, palms slick with sweat. “Anyone who's available right now.”

The receptionist straightened. “Of course, ma’am. Please, follow me.”

Vanessa exhaled sharply. “After you.”

They walked briskly into the general Paternity and Genetics wing. The receptionist knocked once on a door labeled Dr.Brighton Perry. Then opened it. Inside, a man in his late forties sat behind a desk, scribbling notes on a file, a stethoscope draped around his neck. He looked up as they entered.

“Doctor Perry, this patient needs to speak with you urgently.” The receptionist slipped out, and the door clicked shut.

Vanessa didn't wait for an invitation. She stepped forward and slapped the document onto his desk. “Doctor Brighton Perry,” she said, her eyes locking onto his. “I need the original records for this test. Now.”

“Could you at least take a seat so I can attend to you properly.”

“It's urgent. Here.” She folded her hand, taping one foot on the ground.

The doctor adjusted his glasses lifting the document to his face.

“A compatibility test report?” He grimaced, his head tilted slightly when he saw the part that was erased.

“I need the original copy. Now.”

“Madam. I'll appreciate if you take a seat while I and some nurses search through our records.”

Vanessa didn't say a word, she pulled out the seat and collapsed into it, her chin high staring deeply to Doctor Brighton whose fingers seemed to tremble through the keyboard and stacks of documents.

He better not play with me. She clenched her fist, darting through the flips of each document both on the system and the file stacks.

“Mr and Mrs Travis.” Dr Brighton lifted his eyes slowly, his grip tightening around the file.

“Yes. That's it.” Vanessa stood up vehemently, scanning through it.

“From our records, your test was normal years ago but the fertility part for your husband seem to have been tampered. I can't find it on our system either.”

“W-What do you mean it's has been tampered?” Vanessa's voice cracked.” I and my husband came to this hospital years back. And now you sit here saying you can't find his records. Vanessa drove a hand through her hair pacing back and forth. Her face flushed. Her veins throbbed around her forehead.

Dr. Brighton's face paled. "Mrs. Travis, I can't just hand over medical records. There are privacy laws—HIPAA regulations. Even for a spouse, I need proper authorization forms, identification verification—"

"Then let me see my records," Vanessa cut in, her mind racing. "The compatibility test was done on both of us. I have a right to my own medical file."

The doctor hesitated, then nodded slowly. "That... that I can do. Give me a moment." He typed rapidly, then frowned at the screen. "That's odd. Your file shows the complete compatibility panel, but your husband's portion has been... redacted. Removed from the joint report." He leaned closer to the monitor. "There's a note here. 'Patient requested a separate consultation. Results filed under confidential advisement per patient request—Dr. Chen, Reproductive Health.'" He glanced up at her. "Your husband came back alone for additional testing and requested his results be sealed."

Vanessa's stomach dropped. "Can you tell me what tests were ordered?"

"Post-surgical fertility assessment. Sperm count analysis. Surgical history review." Dr. Brighton scrolled further. "The system shows the tests were completed but flags them as 'patient-restricted access.'" He paused. "However, if you suspect fraud or forgery on a legal document bearing your signature, you'd need to file a formal request through the hospital's legal department with your attorney present. That could take weeks, or..." he lowered his voice, "you could try reaching Dr. Chen directly. He retired last year, but he might remember the case.”

“I'm not leaving this hospital until I get an answer on what happened to my marital document!” Her tone sharpened, cutting through the room like broken glasses.

Dr Brighton swallowed hard, his fingers clacking through the keyboard. “Let me check our recycle bin and archives.” He said in a shaky voice avoiding eye contact.

“Better!” She swirled back, snatched her phone off her bag and dialed her lawyer's contact.

“I'm gonna call my lawyer and I'm gonna sue your ass, this hospital and everyone inside of it. This is falsification and tampering of personal documents!”

The room tilted. Dr. Brighton's face snapped as he opened his mouth ajar when he noticed the phone pressed on Vanessa's ears.

“H…Here's it madam.” He called up abruptly and Vanessa gave a condescending look. “Show me.” She lowered her phone slowly.

“I found it in one of the recycle folders.” His breath rugged like he was seeing a walking trouble.

Vanessa leaned in, her hands hovering through the screen.

“Travis Report Section.” boldy written in caps. She stopped her fingers there, reading through the details one after another.

“Hold on a second…” she lifted her eyes to the doctor, her breath hitched.

“Vasetomy…” She grimaced, “My husband is unable to conceive…” The word hit her like a punch to her gut, making her throat burn.

“W…what's going on here? Can you explain this document to me. How come? I…I don't get it.” She withdrew back a little, her neck dropped.

“Below the document this report was conducted by one of my close colleagues. He's out of the country now. I guess he was really close to your husband.”

“But that doesn't answer the question.” Vanessa's jaw tightened.

“So I…I've been living in a lie all these while? You knew about this, don't you?”

He paused, finding the right word. “I had no idea Vanessa.”

“You're lying.” Vanessa's eyes redeened, tears streaking down the corners.

“Then why does my husband believe I’m infertile?”. She muttered, backing the doctor as she forcefully dried her eyes. With a smack of her fingers she turned to face him again, pointing her index finger. “You know what?,” her jaw tightened. “I want this document printed out and handed to me right now. All of it!” She pressed her lips, driving her hand in her hair. Dr Brighton stood up frantically as he moved briskly to the photocopying machine, his shoulders dropped slightly with nose covered with thick sweat.

“This can't be.” Vanessa’s eyes rolled from the ceiling to Mr Brighton. Why will my husband choose to keep a subject manner as sensitive as a vasectomy away from me? The question rang again in her head as she forced her trembling feet on the ground. Despite the air conditioner in the office Vanessa's face still streaked with sweat. She swirled to the chair pulling it in one touch and collapsing therein. Her feet stamp tapped beneath the floor as her fingers hovered through her phone as she typed a text to her attorney.