Updated Dec 2, 2025 • ~8 min read
Knox couldn’t sleep.
He’d left the gala three hours ago, come home, changed into paint-stained sweatpants, and tried to work on the canvas that had been calling to him all week. But his hands wouldn’t cooperate. His mind kept wandering back to emerald green and warm brown eyes and the sound of Julia’s laugh.
At 2 AM, he gave up and collapsed onto his couch, Julia’s business card still in his jacket pocket across the room.
She’s pregnant, he reminded himself for the hundredth time. Probably married. Definitely out of your league. This is just about art.
But his traitorous heart didn’t care about logic.
Knox grabbed his phone, intending to mindlessly scroll through social media until exhaustion finally claimed him. Instead, he found himself opening Google.
Julia Adams.
The search results flooded in. CEO of Adams Enterprises at thirty-one. Youngest person to ever head the company. Philanthropist. Art collector. Voted one of the city’s “30 Under 30” two years running.
Knox scrolled through images: Julia at charity events, Julia cutting ribbons at building dedications, Julia accepting awards. In every photo, she had that same warm smile, though he noticed it didn’t always reach her eyes.
Then he found an article from six months ago: “Adams Heiress Announces Pregnancy, Plans to Raise Baby as Single Mother.”
Knox’s heart stuttered.
Single mother.
He read the article twice, his pulse quickening with each word.
Julia Adams, CEO of Adams Enterprises, confirmed yesterday that she is expecting her first child via anonymous sperm donor. “I’ve always wanted to be a mother,” Adams told reporters, “and I’m fortunate enough to have the resources to make that choice on my own terms.”
Anonymous sperm donor.
The words hit Knox like a physical blow.
No.
No no no.
His hands were shaking as he set down his phone. This was insane. Impossible. The odds of Julia Adams—the Julia Adams he’d just met tonight—being pregnant with a baby conceived through anonymous donation were already astronomical.
The odds of it being his donation?
Mathematically impossible.
Knox stood up, pacing the length of his apartment. He was being ridiculous. Paranoid. There were probably hundreds of sperm donations processed through that clinic every year. Thousands, maybe. The chance that his donation—made four years ago in a moment of desperation—had resulted in the baby currently growing inside Julia Adams was so infinitesimally small it wasn’t worth considering.
And yet.
And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Knox grabbed his laptop and opened his email, scrolling back. Back past gallery inquiries and commission requests. Back past studio rental agreements and utility bills. Back four years to September, when his life had been falling apart and he’d made a choice he’d tried very hard not to think about since.
There.
From: Riverside Fertility Clinic
Subject: Donation Confirmation
Knox’s finger hovered over the email. He hadn’t opened it in years. Hadn’t wanted to. The money had been deposited, the transaction complete. He’d convinced himself it was better not to know anything more.
But now…
He clicked.
The email was brief and clinical:
Dear Knox Barrow,
Thank you for your donation on September 14th. Your sample has been processed and added to our donor registry under ID #B4729. Recipients can search our registry by various criteria including physical characteristics, education, and interests.
As per your agreement, all information remains strictly confidential. You will never be contacted regarding any potential offspring, and recipients will never have access to identifying information.
Thank you for your generosity in helping others build their families.
ID #B4729.
Knox stared at the number until it blurred.
This was crazy. He was being crazy. There was no way to know if Julia had even used Riverside Fertility Clinic. No way to know if she’d chosen his profile. No way to know anything without—
His fingers were typing before his brain could stop them.
Riverside Fertility Clinic donor records.
The clinic’s website appeared, sterile and professional. He navigated to the donor registry—the public-facing version that recipients could search—and his stomach dropped.
There was a login.
Knox knew he shouldn’t. Knew this was crossing a line. The anonymity agreement he’d signed was legally binding. He’d promised never to seek out information about potential children.
But this wasn’t about seeking. This was about knowing.
His old login credentials were saved in his browser’s autofill: the email address he’d used four years ago, a password he’d long since changed for everything else.
He clicked enter.
The system logged him in.
Knox’s donor profile filled the screen—a snapshot of himself at twenty-five, frozen in time. His physical description: 6’1″, brown hair, green eyes, athletic build. His education: BFA in Studio Art. His interests: painting, music, basketball.
And then, at the bottom of the page, a section he’d never noticed before.
Recipient Matches: 1
Knox’s heart stopped.
One match.
In four years, only one recipient had chosen his donation. Only one person had looked at his anonymous profile and decided: Yes. This one.
His hand trembled as he clicked the link.
A new page loaded, showing limited information in accordance with the anonymity agreement. No names. No identifying details. Just basic data:
Recipient Profile:
Age at time of donation selection: 27
Location: Metro area
Reason for selection: “Artistic background, similar interests in creative fields”
Status: Pregnancy confirmed, due date December 28th
Knox did the math in his head. Julia was seven months pregnant. That would put her due date at…
December 28th.
The room spun.
No.
He clicked back to the search function, hands shaking so badly he could barely type. Physical description: brown hair, green eyes. The website showed that his was one of only three donors matching that description in the system.
Of those three, his was the only one with an artistic background.
Julia had said she’d been following his work for a year. Had tried to buy one of his pieces.
Had she known? Had she somehow figured out—
No. Impossible. The system was anonymous. There was no way she could have connected the donor ID to him.
But the baby she was carrying…
Knox slammed his laptop shut and stood up so fast he knocked over his coffee mug. Cold coffee spilled across his desk, but he barely noticed.
This couldn’t be happening.
He’d met a woman tonight. A brilliant, beautiful woman who’d made him feel things he hadn’t felt in years. They’d connected over art, over shared interests, over something real and tangible.
And she was pregnant with his baby.
His baby.
Knox’s legs gave out and he sat down hard on the floor, his back against the couch.
Four years ago, he’d signed away all rights. He’d promised never to interfere. He’d taken the money and convinced himself it was a good deed—helping someone who wanted a child, someone who’d love that child in ways he never could.
He’d never imagined he’d meet her.
Never imagined he’d feel like this.
Knox pulled out his phone with shaking hands and stared at Julia’s business card, still pulled up in his photos where he’d saved it.
Text me when you’re free, she’d said.
What was he supposed to do now? Pretend he didn’t know? Walk away? Tell her the truth and watch whatever connection they’d started tonight dissolve into legal nightmares and betrayal?
His phone buzzed in his hand, making him jump.
A text from an unknown number: Hi Knox, it’s Julia. I know it’s late, but I couldn’t sleep and I kept thinking about what you said about your new collection. Would you be free for coffee tomorrow? No pressure if you’re busy. – J
Knox stared at the message, his heart hammering.
She couldn’t sleep either.
She’d been thinking about him.
She wanted to see him again.
And she had no idea that the baby moving inside her right now shared half of his DNA.
Knox typed and deleted three different responses before finally settling on: Tomorrow works. Does 10am at Sterling’s on Fifth sound good?
Her reply came immediately: Perfect. See you then.
Knox set down his phone and put his head in his hands.
What have I done?
But even as the question echoed in his mind, he knew the answer.
He’d fallen for her in the span of an hour.
And he’d agreed to see her again, knowing a truth that could destroy everything before it even started.
The right thing to do would be to cancel. To walk away. To let Julia raise her baby in peace without the complication of the biological father suddenly appearing in her life.
But Knox had never been good at doing the right thing when his heart was involved.
He looked at Julia’s last text one more time: Perfect. See you then.
Nothing about this situation was perfect.
But tomorrow, he’d see her again.
And God help him, he couldn’t wait.
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