Chapter 15

The photo of my mother is the first thing that makes me want to run. It’s glossy, eight‑by‑ten, slid across a table so polished I can see my own reflection shaking in it. Emily Lane, twenty‑something, lab coat crisp, eyes bright. The Genexis logo is a ghost in the corner. She looks like any ambitious young nurse. Not like a woman who sold her unborn kid’s brain. “She was one of ours,” the man across from me says smoothly. “Brilliant. Committed.” Liar. Opportunist. Whore for...