Chapter 5 – The Switch

Clara

To my surprise and relief, the procedure itself was quick and painless. Less than an hour after walking into the clinic, I was back out on the bustling New York streets, armed with a bag of pills and supplements and instructions for my two-week follow-up appointment.

Dr. Mathers, or Nate, as he insisted I call him, had been a whirlwind of energy and enthusiasm. After examining me, he declared my ovaries and uterus to be the "healthiest he'd ever seen in a human," whatever that meant. He assured me that conceiving would be effortless, and any subsequent pregnancies would be effortless. I chuckled at his optimism, but his confidence was oddly reassuring.

When he realized I was at the peak of my ovulation cycle, he suggested we proceed with the insemination right away. It all happened so fast, but I felt strangely calm and determined. This was my path and choice.

Nurse Betty, a kind and compassionate woman with a gentle smile, guided me through the process of choosing a donor profile. I appreciated her lack of judgment and her unwavering support for my decision to become a single mother by choice.

I checked off my preferences—tall, dark hair, blue eyes, athletic build, high IQ—and let the clinic handle the rest. The anonymity of the donor was a comfort; I didn't have to worry about explaining my situation to anyone.

My thoughts drifted to the future, to the child I hoped to have. I knew they'd have questions about their father one day, and I was prepared to answer them honestly. My child would be no less loved or cherished because of their unconventional conception.

I envisioned a happy, healthy baby—a child who would grow up surrounded by love and laughter. It didn't matter if it was a boy or a girl. All I wanted was to be a mother, to experience the joy of raising a child and watching them grow, learn, and become their own person.

As I stepped onto the subway, a sense of peace settled over me. It was the beginning of a new chapter, a journey into the unknown. But for the first time in a long time, I felt hopeful. I was on my way to becoming a mother, and I couldn't wait to see where this path would lead.

As I left the clinic, a kaleidoscope of emotions swirled within me: excitement, anticipation, a touch of fear, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. I thought of my parents, Joe and Lidia, who had showered me with love and support as their only child. They had yearned for more children, but fate had other plans. Their story resonates with me now more than ever.

Being in my early thirties, I knew the biological clock was ticking. The prospect of finding a partner, falling in love, and starting a family through traditional means seemed increasingly unlikely. The idea of waiting, of potentially missing out on the chance to become a mother, filled me with a sense of urgency.

I knew my decision might seem impulsive, but I had always wanted to be a mother. It was a dream I couldn't let go of, a path I was determined to forge on my own. And while I understood the challenges that lay ahead, I was confident in my ability to provide for my child, both emotionally and financially. After all, I had worked tirelessly for years, building a successful career and saving for the future.

Back at the clinic, a quiet buzz of satisfaction filled the air. Another successful procedure marked the beginning of a new life. The staff moved with practiced efficiency, cleaning and sterilizing the equipment, their faces reflecting the pride they took in their work.

Dr. Mathers, his energy still boundless after a long day, retreated to his office to tackle the mountain of paperwork that awaited him. As he settled into his chair, a smile played on his lips. Although he had seen many miracles in his career, each one left him in awe of human resilience.

He glanced at the clock, noting that it was nearly time to head home. But before he left, he made a mental note to check on Clara Beaufort's file in two weeks. He had a feeling she was going to be a wonderful mother.

He was ambling down the clinic's hallway, his mind still buzzing with the day's events, when Nurse Betty, the same woman who had assisted him earlier, came barreling around the corner, nearly knocking him off his feet. Behind her, trailed Barry, the clinic's head andrologist, a look of barely contained panic on his usually placid face.

Nate, a seasoned physician with a keen eye for human behavior, immediately sensed something was amiss. "Whoa there," he chuckled, steadying Betty with a gentle hand. "What's the rush?"

Betty, her chest heaving, struggled to catch her breath. "Doctor Mathers," she stammered, "we were actually on our way to find you." Her eyes darted to Barry, then back to Nate. "About the procedure earlier..."

Nate's smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. He'd worked with Betty and Barry for years, and their professionalism was unwavering. This clearly wasn't a routine issue.

"Out with it," he urged, ushering them into his office. He closed the door behind them, creating a bubble of privacy in the bustling clinic.

Barry, unable to contain his anxiety any longer, burst out, "There's been a mix-up with the sperm samples."

Nate's heart sank. A mix-up? At their prestigious clinic, renowned for its meticulous procedures and unwavering commitment to accuracy, It seemed impossible.

He sank into his chair, his mind racing through the implications. "Tell me everything," he commanded, his voice barely a whisper.

Betty and Barry exchanged a look of silent understanding before launching into a detailed account of the events that had led to the catastrophic error. As they spoke, Nate felt a cold dread settle in his stomach. This wasn't just a minor inconvenience; it was a potential disaster. The error could alter one's life and lead to disastrous outcomes.

"Were you not quite sure?" Barry began, his voice faltering as he glanced nervously between Betty and Dr. Mathers. "But the specimen you used earlier for the procedure..." He swallowed hard. "It might be from the wrong donor."

Dr. Mathers' eyebrows shot up in confusion. "Wrong donor? I used the vials you delivered to the operating room. Betty and you were responsible for double-checking them before sending them up.

Barry wiped a bead of sweat from his brow; his face paled. "D-Dr. Mathers, I'm so sorry," he stammered. "I pulled the specimen from the green-labeled vials, as per my instructions."

"The standard donor specimens," Betty interjected, her eyes fixed on Barry with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

"Yes, I know," Barry said, his voice rising in frustration. "But I was also filling orders from the blue-labeled section, and..."

"The blue-labeled section?" Nate interrupted, his voice sharp. Now he had their full attention.

Betty groaned, covering her face with her hands. "He asked the intern to prepare the specimens," she explained. "And the intern... well, he got confused and completely ignored the color-coded labels. He gave us the wrong vial."

She placed a sheet of paper on Dr. Mather's desk—a jumble of alphanumeric codes representing the specimen's tracking information. The code ensured anonymity for the donors but also provided a crucial way to identify them in the clinic's database.

Dr. Mathers' fingers flew across the keyboard as he logged into the clinic's portal. "It was too late when I realized the vials were switched," Barry confessed, his voice barely a whisper. "You were already in the middle of the procedure." He hung his head, the image of dejection. "I messed up, and I'm so sorry."

The silence in the room was deafening as Dr. Mathers stared at the screen, his heart pounding in his chest. This was a disaster. This was a grave mistake that could potentially have life-changing repercussions.

Dr. Mathers stared at his laptop screen, the donor profile glaring back at him, a look of utter horror etched on his face. "Holy fuck," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Betty winced, and Barry's face paled further, sweat beading on his forehead despite the frigid air conditioning. They knew that the particular expression on Dr. Mathers' lips meant one thing: utter and complete disaster.

"We're completely fucked," Nate groaned, burying his face in his hands. The donor's profile on his screen was not typical. It wasn't even a sperm donor at all. According to the file, the clinic held the specimen for a genetics study under Dr. Dana Cortez's supervision.

Nate's blood ran cold when he saw the label, emblazoned across the top of the document in bold red capital letters: RESTRICTED AND CONFIDENTIAL PROFILE ACCESS—LYCAN ALPHA CATEGORY.

A wave of nausea washed over him. This wasn't just a mix-up; this was a catastrophe of epic proportions. He had just inseminated a human woman with Lycan alpha sperm. The implications were staggering, and the potential consequences were unimaginable.