When Google comes up with his name, I don’t want to believe it. At first I think it isn’t him, but a picture comes with it and there’s no denying that the Chaucer Briggs in the article is the same man who just left this room.

The article says that Chaucer Briggs—also known as Dirty Money Briggs—is an ex-con who served time for money laundering. The article also alludes to the idea that Chaucer killed his business partner, framing it as a suicide, but it doesn’t go any further than that.

I hadn’t realized I was holding my breath until I’m gasping for air, trying to breathe through the confusion. How is this possible? How can Mosaic let someone like that into her club? No woman would want to have a baby with a criminal. It’s been proven that behavioral traits can be passed down. The men here are clearly not vetted as well as I was told if a simple Google search yields these results. I want to say something, to complain, but then I’d have to admit that I broke the rules. Maybe that’s why the rules were put in place, to keep women from looking into these men and learning they are cons, maybe even sociopaths. Maybe this whole baby-making club is a scam.

I’m so mad that I’m shaking. I shoot up out of bed to get dressed. I can hardly grip the clasp to put my bra back on.

I don’t know what to do. The women of this club should know … But if they knew, would this be the end of their chances to have children? While some studies say that behavioral traits can be passed down, that’s not always the case. Most bad men are that way because of the way they’re raised. Is Chaucer the way he is because he lacked a strong male role model in his life? No, I know plenty of single mothers who raised good kids.

I put my hands on my head. I’m spinning out over this news. I don’t know how to process it. Not only am I angry that I’ve been lied to and cheated, I’m also heartbroken and concerned. What if his dirty dealings somehow come back on me? What if we do end up having a child and it comes back on him or her? This kind of thing could haunt my child for the rest of their life.

My teeth chatter even though it’s not cold. Suddenly everything about this room, the smell, the ambiance, makes me feel sick. I need to leave. What have I done? This situation was strange to start with, now it feels dark and dirty. I want a baby in the worst way, but I don’t want the lies of the father to come back and hurt me or my child later on.

As I leave the clinic, I can’t help but realize that despite Chaucer’s criminal history, I still find myself thinking about him. About the look on his face when he left me. About everything he didn’t say. I care about him after everything I just learned. It’s stupid, I know. But I can’t help it.

* * *

Later that month, the phone calls start rolling in. At work, I have to turn off my phone to keep from annoying my co-worker at the desk next to mine. At the end of the day, there are several messages from Mosaic. I don’t want to listen to any of them. I want to forget about that entire part of my life. But later, when I’m at home alone, my curiosity gets the best of me. I need to know what she has to say.

The messages don’t say anything other than “please call our offices.”

That’s kind of scary on its own. What does she want? Has she somehow figured out that I learned who my partner was? Did I ask him too many questions? Did Megan tell Mosaic that I was actually attracted to him? I think this even though I know she would never do something like that. She’s my friend. I’m being paranoid.

My phone rings while I’m contemplating all of this and nearly scares me to death. I fumble, practically dropping it. Mosaic’s number comes up on my screen. I try to control my breathing as I answer the call.

“Hello, Mosaic,” I say.

Her voice is that of anticipation when she speaks. She asks if the pregnancy took. She doesn’t seem suspicious one bit. Perhaps she doesn’t know after all.

I assure her that there is no pregnancy news. I haven’t tested and my period is due soon. So we’ll see. I’m just very busy at work and haven’t had time to check in with her. It sounds like an excuse, but Mosaic doesn’t mention that. But she does make a comment that gives me pause. She says—more as an off-handed comment than something that is supposed to carry much meaning—that my baby-making partner has become somewhat obsessive as of late. He constantly calls her and wants to know if we’re confirmed for future appointments.

My chest aches and tears prick my eyes. I wasn’t expecting that. I figured once I moved on, Chaucer would move onto the next woman looking to get pregnant. Knowing that he wants to be with me again makes this so much harder.

I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I give Mosaic an excuse about my phone battery about to die and that I will call her later. Then I hang up with no intentions of ever calling again. I’m done with the baby-making club. As much as it hurts, I have to be done with Chaucer. There has to be another way.