Her Daughter’s Mother by Daniela Petrova
English | 2019 | Mystery/Thriller | ePUB |1.1 Mb
Her Daughter’s : Lana Stone has never considered herself a stalker—until the night she impulsively follows a familiar face through the streets of New York’s Upper West Side. Her target? The “anonymous” egg donor she’d selected through an agency, the one who’s making motherhood possible for her. Hungry to learn more about her, Lana plans only to watch her from a distance. But when circumstances bring them face-to-face, an unexpected friendship is born. Katya, a student at Columbia, is the yin to Lana’s yang, an impulsive free spirit who lives life at the edge. And for pragmatic Lana, she’s a breath of fresh air and a welcome distraction from her painful breakup with her baby’s father. Then, just as suddenly as Katya entered Lana’s life, she disappears—and Lana might have been the last person to see her before she went missing. Determined to find out what became of the woman to whom she owes so much, Lana digs into Katya’s past, even as the police grow suspicious of her motives. But she’s unprepared for the secrets she unearths, and their power to change everything she thought she knew about those she loves best…
“I can’t. Tyler’s waiting for me. And I still have work to do.”
The little girl was getting fussy, kicking her chunky legs. Her mother unbuckled her and sat her down on her lap. She had on a pink dress and matching shoes. I smiled, waved at her again. She stared at me with her big brown eyes before finally giving me a grin. My whole body seemed to relax, all the tension draining away.
“How’s he dealing with the bad news?” Angie asked.
I frowned. “I haven’t even told him yet.”
Tyler hadn’t been happy about spending the last of our savings on a donor egg cycle that cost more than half my annual salary. We did okay between the two of us—he as an associate philosophy professor at Columbia and I as an associate curator at the Met—or rather, we would have been doing okay if we weren’t pouring it all into fertility treatments.
“He’s been weird lately,” I continued. “Going through the motions as if he doesn’t care about the cycle. He’s been irritable, too. We fight about the smallest, stupidest things.”
“Men don’t know how to deal with stress. Make him give you a massage tonight,” Angie said with a wink. I shrugged, distracted by the little doll in a pink dress across from me. I put my hand in front of my face and mouthed, Peekaboo, as I pulled it away. She stared at me, then lifted her hand, imitating me. I turned to Angie. “Do you think her mother would let me hold her?”
“Are you crazy?”