Dr. Fairchild opened his mouth, but I cut him off with one raised hand.
“Nah, see, this how them horror IVF stories start. I leave my shit unattended one time, and ten years from now, I’m minding my business in the mall when some random lil’ nigga walks up with my eyes, my attitude, and entirely too much confidence, talking ’bout, ‘Daddy?’”
Zonnique groaned. “Merge, nobody is stealing your sperm.”
“You don’t know that.” I pointed toward the doctor. “My genetics got street value. I ain’t got time to be unknowingly populating the country, Doc. I don’t need no unauthorized Merge Junior running around Milwaukee, Minneapolis, or Mississippi, terrorizing teachers, and inheriting shit I never agreed to leave him.”
Zonnique stifled a sound, but I wasn’t joking… not all the way.
The doctor cleared his throat, sitting straighter. “I completely understand your concern, Mr. Belvior, but I can assure you, our process is extremely secure, especially with high-profile clients like yourself. Your identity will be fully protected. Your sample won’t even be labeled with your name. It will be given a numeric code; one thatonly Iwill know. No lab tech, no nurse, not even my top embryologist will have access to that information.”
I glared at him hard. “And how do I know it’ll bemysperm you’ll be using? What’s stopping somebody from switching labels and giving Zonnique another nigga’s baby? Next thing I know that child comes out looking like Drake, crying in French, and I’m expected to pretend genetics just skipped a generation.”
Dr. Fairchild’s eyes widened in size, and he nearly knocked over his pen holder.
“No! Absolutely not! I… I would never risk something like that! My license, my reputation… myentire careerdepends on the integrity of this practice! I love my job, Mr. Belvior. More importantly, I love beingalive! I have a wife, three children, and a mortgage with only two years left. I’m far too close to owning my house outright to start making reckless decisions now.”
He exhaled hard, then added, “Every procedure is double verified! The moment your sample arrives, it’s logged, encoded, sealed, and stored under biometric access. Again, only I will be able to retrieve it, and even then, the code won’t be traced back to your real name. You’ll get paperwork, chain of custody forms, and security documentation,” he explained. “You have my word! No onewill tamper with your sample.”
I stared him down a few seconds longer, letting the silence stretch until his collar looked like it needed a fan.
Finally, I responded, “Yeah. You better makedamnsure nobody in that lab gets creative. If I find out my DNA got misplaced, swapped, or leaked, I’m not filing complaints, there won’t be no investigation, no lawyer involved, and damn sureno second chances; just me showing up in black gloves asking questions nobody survives long enough to answer.”
And I meant that.
My sperm wasn’t a donation; it was bloodline insurance… royal fuckin’ stock. So, if a baby was born with dimples I didn’t authorize, nappy hair I didn’t bless, or skin two shades too light, somebody was getting snatched mid-shift, zipped up, tagged, and cremated before the birth certificate dried.
“Now, when can we get this shit moving?” I asked.
“If you’re willing to proceed, you can provide a sample today or return tomorrow,” Dr. Fairchild explained. “Once that’s completed, we can begin scheduling the retrieval cycle. I strongly recommend moving sooner rather than later. The preparation window matters. Medication, hormone levels, and timing all need to be carefully coordinated.”
None of this was supposed to play out this way, but I gave him a tight nod anyway.
“Cool,” I replied flatly. “I’ll stop back through sometime this week.”
The doctor nodded quickly. “Understood. I’ll have everything arranged.”
Zonnique let out a relieved breath, like the worst part was over, but for me, that conversation had only made things worse.
I pointed at her, livid. “You better pray I calm down before you make it outside, because right now, when I look at you, all I see is wasted time.”
With nothing else to say, I turned and walked out, ignoring her calling my name.
“Merge, wait!”
The office door slammed behind me, her voice muffled by the sound.
I stormed down the hallway, mind racing.
All that damn time.
All those arguments, all those nights, all that pressure from my family… and this is the outcome?
Yeah, I was pissed.
But the real kicker was realizing I’d spent an entire year fucking a woman raw—a promise I made to Knox that I would never do again unless I was married to the love of my life.
I wasn’t no lover boy. Hell, I was barely emotionally available enough to remember my own damn birthday, let alone fall in love. Yet there I was, breaking one of the few promises I’d ever made for a woman I could barely tolerate and a child we apparently had less than a five-percent chance of creating.
