November 20, 2024

hoto-Illustration: The Cut; Photos: Getty

On April 12, Mary Schacher sat in the lobby of the Center for Reproductive Health for the last time. Earlier that month, on April 4, the management at the Nashville medical office, which billed itself as a “boutique fertility clinic,” had sent a letter to its employees saying their paychecks would be late. According to the letter, “Unforeseen circumstances have led to a financial deficit” but promised staff would be paid promptly once funds were available. Around 4 p.m. the next day, according to Schacher, a nurse called to cancel her appointment later in the month. Schacher had been scheduled to come in to prepare for an embryo transfer — her embryos had been genetically tested and both deemed viable, and she was hoping to become pregnant later that month. The nurse told Schacher to keep taking her medications in the hopes it would be rescheduled the following month.

On April 8, Schacher heard on the news that the office had suddenly closed; no one answered the phones, so she or her husband showed up in person for the rest of the week. When her husband tried visiting the clinic that week, he found an unlocked lobby door and a sticky note with a key taped to the front reception desk, possibly from a former employee who had dropped it off, saying “Thank you for everything & great opportunity!” He told the security of the main building that doors were unlocked and medical records and genetic material were inside, unprotected.

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Photo-Illustration: by The Cut; Photo: Getty Images

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A biweekly newsletter interrogating modern family life, written by Kathryn Jezer-Morton.