-Hazel-
After waiting for about thirty minutes, a nurse stepped into Ellie's office.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
I nodded silently.
"Follow me."
We walked through the quiet corridors of the building. It was a serene environment, and I couldn't ignore the dozens of cameras discreetly watching every angle. She led me into a private suite. More white walls. More quietness.
I sat stiffly on a leather exam chair. Pressing my legs tightly together, my fingers gripping the hem of my shirt. I was cold. Scared. But I needed to do this. For Ma.
"Have you ever been pregnant?" the nurse asked.
"No," I replied.
"Any history of chronic illness?"
"No."
She left the room, leaving me alone with my racing thoughts. I reached for my phone, thinking to call the hospital—but it was still dead. I'd forgotten to charge it. Of course. Today had officially become the worst day of my life.
She returned ten minutes later, this time with a doctor. I knew instantly by the white coat, the air of control, the emotionless face. No warmth in their greetings. No softening in their eyes.
They led me down a narrow hallway into another exam room. Brighter lights. More stainless steel. Even colder.
"We'll need to perform a full physical," the nurse said briskly. "Bloodwork, pelvic exam, and a transvaginal ultrasound."
I blinked. "Now?"
"You requested urgent consideration," she reminded me.
I swallowed and nodded. "Yes. Of course."
She handed me a paper gown. "Strip completely. Place your clothes and belongings in the locker."
I did what she asked, trying not to shake. When I stepped back out, the air felt sharp against my skin. I'd never felt so exposed. So observed. I wasn't used to this—being seen without control, without context, without permission.
I lay back in the chair, heart thudding. My feet slipped into the cold metal stirrups. My body no longer felt like mine. It belonged to guilt. Or maybe to hope.
The doctor said nothing. No questions. No reassurance. She inserted the probe, glanced at the screen, and took quiet notes.
"Uterus is optimal," she murmured. "No fibroids. Ovarian reserve slightly diminished, but viable. Hormonal profile pending."
Nine vials of blood followed. I stared at the ceiling the whole time. Focused on nothing.
Another woman entered after that. Short hair. Square glasses. A tablet in her hand.
"I'm Dr. Nora. The psychologist," she said. "If you're selected, you'll carry a child for one of our private clients. This is not casual. We vet thoroughly."
She sat across from me, eyes unreadable. "Why do you want to do this?"
My throat clenched. "I need the money. My mother needs heart surgery. They won't operate unless we pay a deposit today. I'll sign anything."
Dr. Nora didn't blink. "Do you understand the emotional implications? You'll carry a child you'll never see again. No contact. No rights."
"I understand," I whispered.
"And if something goes wrong?"
"What could go wrong?"
That made her pause. She studied me, then tapped her screen.
The rest became a blur. Urine sample. Chest X-ray. Blood pressure. Hormone injections. A quick consultation with a nutritionist. A sterile pep talk from a therapist. I was poked and prodded, judged and measured.
I didn't flinch. Not once.
Not until the final room.
It was warmer than the others. Soft lighting. Velvet chairs. A digital screen on the wall that read: Legal Consultation – Final Authorization.
Another woman entered. Older. Elegant. Thin lips. Hawk eyes that never seemed to blink.
"You've passed the initial assessments," she said. "One of our most exclusive clients needs a surrogate. Your profile is a match. He's wealthy. Very private. Discretion is non-negotiable."
"Who is he?" I asked quietly.
Her expression didn't change. "You'll never meet him. Your identity will remain confidential. You'll receive five hundred thousand dollars, divided into two installments. The first will be wired tonight. Medical preparation begins this week. Embryo transfer within days."
"A week?" My voice cracked.
"You said your mother needed help immediately," she replied coolly. "This is your fastest option. Or… you're having second thoughts?"
"No—I'm in. I'll do it. I just… I need to help my mom."
She slid a contract toward me. Thick. Heavy. Laced with fine print and red ink.
Clauses about health risks. Silence. No press. No future liability. No voice.
One sentence jumped out:
You are agreeing to surrender any legal or emotional claim over the child, effective immediately upon confirmed pregnancy.
I hesitated. My hand trembled over the page.
"Can I think about it?" I asked.
Her smile was tight. "Of course. But in our world, surrogate slots fill fast. Especially for clients like this."
I picked up the pen again. And signed.
I left there and started heading back to the hospital.
I sat at my Ma's bedside, holding her hand. The machines beeped in slow rhythm around us. Her face was still pale. Too still. I laid my head beside her arm, just listening to her breathe.
A nurse entered quietly. "Miss Hazel?"
I looked up.
"The finance office just confirmed payment. The surgery is scheduled for 6 a.m."
I blinked. "How…?"
She smiled gently. "Someone made a full deposit. It came from a private medical account under Honeylid Family Solutions."
I stared at her because I already knew.
The first payment had cleared.
I exhaled slowly, tears pricking behind my eyes.
I placed my head back on the edge of the bed, clutching Ma's hand.
Her heartbeat was still here. And so was I.But everything else was about to change.
Forever.