Emily's POV
My stomach resembles a bulging soccer ball. Fortunately, if I wear baggy clothes, no one will realize that I'm seven months pregnant. Staring in the mirror at myself is like staring at someone else.
I'm overweight, and I'm uncomfortable. I can't walk more than a few steps without being out of breath. And then there's the heat... It's the absolute worst.
I've given my notice at the restaurant at Catherine's request, which I'm not thrilled about. I spend most of my days in my apartment, bored and agitated, fantasizing about the day my swollen feet would fit back into my tiny sandals and I'll be able to wear that gorgeous little dress I'd kept for summer.
Except for one person, no one knows about my "condition," and for the time being, I believe I can get away with it. But one afternoon, on my way back from a doctor's visit, I ran into Rachel, my ex-restaurant manager.
"Be careful, you'll hurt yourself," she warns, glancing down at the now-visible bump.
"You know what you're having yet?" she inquires.
For a split second, I'm at a loss for words.
"It's a boy."
"Are you keeping it? You appear to be quite far along," she remarks. No, I shake my head. Rachel and I aren't exactly friends, but the look on her face indicates that she badly wants to tell me something.
"I didn't tell my ex for months because I knew he'd tell me to get rid of it. As a result, I chose to keep it. I even gave him a name, assuming he was a boy. I miscarried six months into the pregnancy," she continues, her voice sorrowful. "All I'm saying is that if you don't want to give him away, that's great. And it's also fine if you want to do that."
I wished I could tell Rachel the truth, but I decided that the less she knew, the better. Olivia was the one person I couldn't hide my pregnancy from.
Perhaps it wasn't my big belly, but rather my mood swings. I transformed into The Incredible Hulk a month into my third trimester. I was easily triggered by the tiniest thing. Most of the time, Olivia was in the line of fire. I'm not sure how she can still be my friend.
I ended up telling her everything one night, from meeting with Charlotte to breakfast in bed. I left out the real sex part for obvious reasons.
"You naughty girl, look at you," she exclaimed, laughing. "Who would have thought you had it in you?" she chuckled. "But, honestly, have you thought about what's going to happen when you hand over that child?" she inquired, her voice trembling.
That's all I've been thinking about for the past six months. My love for this baby are growing as my tummy grows. Sometimes I imagine him as a boy with brown eyes like Liam. The very thought of hugging him causes my heart to ache with an unexplainable sensation.
I can feel him kicking when I'm awake at night. He's in a rush to come out. I even hum that song to him, which has now become a sort of tradition when I see Liam in the hospital.
Of course, I haven't informed Liam that I'm expecting a child. He'll label me insane for going to such extent. I convince myself that it's better this way—he doesn't need the added burden of knowing his sister is one marble away from losing her mind.
He appears to be out of the woods for the time being, and he's been moved from the ICU, but there's still a chance he'll relapse if he doesn't receive the operation. Meanwhile, medical bills continue to pile up, with 'final demand' letters emerging every other week or so.
Just two more months, and I'll have enough money for his surgery. Who knows, maybe we'll return to Minnesota and start over. Liam can finally complete his senior year, and I may even consider returning to college.
My child is now 14 inches long and four pounds. Charlotte seemed to have a sixth sense when I first called to tell her the news.
"I believe you have something in your possession that belongs to me." She was well aware of how far along I was. A limo was waiting outside my apartment ten minutes later to whisk me away for my first visit to the obstetrician.
When a stern-looking woman glanced through the window as I was getting into the car, I almost peed myself. She introduced herself as Ruth and stated that she would be my caregiver for the length of my pregnancy.
More like a prison warder.
Ruth accompanied me to all of my doctor's appointments, cooked every meal, and even volunteered to bathe me once. she has muscled herself into every aspect of my life, so I put my foot down when she volunteered to bath me. The only time she was absent was at night. But that's debatable—I'm convinced she sleeps on my apartment stairs and only comes when Charlotte summons her.
She came over to the refrigerator one night when I was making dinner and noticed a picture of the baby's first scan pinned to the door.
"You're becoming too attached," she cautioned. "I knew something like this would happen."
She got her phone and walked out the front door, closing it behind her. I put my ear to the door to hear what she was saying. Charlotte was on the other side, I knew. She sounded agitated and enraged.
I immediately took the photo and hid it in my underwear drawer, next to the knitted baby blanket and infant crawler I found at a thrift store.
He appeared very small in the scan. He was the size of a pea back then—a small, tiny, little pea. The first visit to Dr Sophie was the most terrifying. She had a chilly as ice demeanor and never made eye contact, keeping things professional.
She plainly knew I was merely a surrogate, a baby-making machine being treated like junk. But the moment I saw that little heart beating on the ultrasound, my heart opened and I felt an enormous sense of love and a need to protect this life that was developing inside of me.
I looked away, afraid to exhibit any emotion, and asked whether she was finished. I quickly stood up and excused myself to the restroom. I locked a cubicle door and sat for ten minutes, cradling my stomach. Ruth was irritated in the waiting area when I returned. In a huff, she handed me the scan.
It's a beautiful summer day in New York, I'm meeting Ruth for lunch at a local restaurant before our appointment with Dr Kenneth.
Olivia and I have started calling her "the boar"—an excellent description, in my opinion.
I have the urge to pee, which is reasonable given that my bladder has taken on the workings of a toddler. I resist the desire and eat another bite of chicken Caesar salad. Then it's as if a dam has burst between my legs.
I reach under my dress and my hand comes into contact with a sticky liquid. It begins to leak on the floor under me. I tell myself not to worry, but Ruth must have noticed the expression on my face. By now, I'm as white as a sheet.
"Emily, are you okay?" she worries.
"No, I think my water just broke," I say as quietly as I can.
Without missing a beat, she springs into action. She helps me up and goes on the phone, taking my bag and clutching my arm. She's calling the hospital, which is fortunately only one block away.
I hear sirens in the distance. This cannot happen; it is far too soon. This cannot be correct. I turn to face Ruth. She's scared, but I'm not sure if it's for me or for the baby. I'm starting to realize I'm in big trouble.
The paramedics rush towards me as the ambulance pulls up to the curb. Onlookers eating their lunch began glancing at me and whispering amongst themselves. The paramedics perform a short inspection and transfer me to a stretcher. Ruth can be heard shouting from behind me.
"Her water broke!"
Five minutes later, I'm being wheeled into the ER at the same hospital where my brother is being treated. The overhead lights flicker once again above me. I wish Olivia could be here. I grab her hand and ask Ruth to call her, but she ignores me. My eyesight becomes fuzzy, and I begin to fade into the darkness.
When I wake up, I'm attached to a monitor.
Dr. Sophie has arrived and is standing next to Ruth.
"Can you hear me, Emily? Emily," I hear her say from a distance. "The infant is in distress. We need to do an emergency C-section."
"No, it's too soon," I mumble.
"We don't have much of a choice. If we don't do this right away, we might lose the baby," she warns.
A team of nurses enters the room and begins preparing me for operation. I sob when the anesthesiologist inserts the epidural. I know how this will end. I've done my homework. The survival rate of babies born at 28 weeks is between 80 and 70%. 10% of those born face long-term difficulties. What if this baby doesn't survive? What happens if something goes wrong?
Dr Sophie rushes in as I fight to rip the drip out.
"Stop fighting it. This isn't your decision," she yells at me. She informs the nurse that if I continue to cause them problems, they should give me a tranquilizer.
I can feel the cold steel beneath me once I'm on the surgical table. A gentle tug on my abdomen indicates that they've done their initial incision. I smell burning flesh—it must be mine.
There is complete silence until I hear the loud scream of a newborn.
It's my child. My infant is wailing.
Someone exclaims, "It's a boy!"
"I want to see him," I say, using the last of my power. "Please allow me to see him."
I'm being overlooked. Nobody is paying attention to me.
"Please, let me see him," I say more loudly. Then I'm pulled into the tranquil darkness.
Emily POVMy phone pings with a notification. It's a text saying that $350K has been deposited in my bank account. I throw the phone against the wall, shattering it into pieces, and let out a scream. The neighbor bangs against the paper thin wall, yelling at me to stop yelling.This feels like a bad dream with no ending. I go back to bed and lie there, just staring at nothingTwo weeks ago I woke up in a hospital bed feeling hollow. I reached down and touched my belly it was flat and empty. When a nurse walked into the room and checked my pulse, I asked her about the baby. She just smiled and walked away, saying the doctor would be with me in a second.The second turned into half an hour. Eventually, Dr Sophie came waltzing in and composed herself before telling me it was a healthy baby boy."Now you can go on living your life," she said. Almost like that was an option now. I got up, dressed myself, and made my way back to my empty apartment.While back home, I tried going about my da
Jacob POVIt's a balmy evening. The full moon shines brightly in the night sky.Holding my stare in the mirror, I button up my shirt and straighten my trousers. My hands start to shake, so I pour myself a neat whisky. What's that thing about Dutch courage? Hopefully it works, because I'm nervous as fuck.Taking a deep breath, I put my mask on, turn the doorknob, and opened the door. There she is, standing across the bed from me. You know when you a play a scene over and over again in your head of how it's supposed to go? This wasn't it. Nothing could prepare me for this exquisite specimen standing before me.I'm a man of few words, and even now I'm struggling to string them. together just to get out a "Hi." How am I supposed to have a conversation with her if I can't even speak?She's wearing a black silk dress that is hugging every curve of her body, teasing but not enticing.Her eyes are covered by the mask, but I can see lightly-freckled cheeks accompanying blood red lips. Those li
Jacob POVSix weeks later and I still can’t get her out of my mind. If I concentrate long enough, I can still smell her hair. The very thought of her sends my insides melting into a congealed mess.My grandmother comes waltzing into my office. She has big news—I can tell by her Cheshire cat grin.“Darling, I had to tell you straight away. Our surrogate is pregnant!” she says, and she comes over to give me an awkward hug—displays of affection are not exactly her strong point.I am at a loss for words and blurt out, “That’s great news, Grandmother.”She looks at me and says, “I thought you’d be more excited? What has gotten my dear Garth down?”I’ve grown tired of her secrecy and games.“Grandmother, who is she?” I ask without breaking eye contact.She’s playing for time, and looks confused when she asks, “Whatever do you mean?”Desperate for an answer, I probe her again.“Who is the woman having my child? I have the right to know.”She’s not making this easy for me. “What does it matte
Jacob POVThe text came through just as I was wrapping up the last meeting for the day. We had the deal in the bag, and I was just about ready to fly back home.I read it three times over just to make sure.“You have a healthy baby boy, weighing 5.5lb. Congratulations!”It can’t be. The surrogate is only due in two months.Eager to get my grandmother on the phone, I dial furiously. The second she answers, she says, “Isn’t it amazing! You’re a father now, dear.”I struggle to get a word in as she harps on.“Wait, isn’t the baby only due in a few months?” I ask.“Yes, but we don’t have control over these things. The good news is that he’s healthy.”The realization slowly sinks in. I’m a dad now! Within a matter of hours, I’m on a private jet, heading back home. The hours tick by in a slow progression of seconds.I try sleeping, but when I close my eyes, all I see is our beautiful baby boy. I wonder if he looks like her. And then it occurs to me. I have no idea what the color of her eyes
Jacob POV“Dr Brook, please have a seat,” I say as I shake his sweaty hand. “I believe you were the attending physician for Liam Adams.”Dr Brook looks nervously around him. “Yes, that is correct. Sad that he didn’t survive after all he’s been through,” he says.“And why do you think that is?” I ask pointedly.“Mr Collin, what are you insinuating? I don’t like the direction this conversation is going,” he says, looking more and more uncomfortable.I take Liam's folder and throw it in front of him.“I am not insinuating anything, Doctor. I just want to know the facts.”He squirms like someone in the hot seat, but states in an authoritative voice, “The fact is, we couldn’t offer medical intervention because his guardian, meaning his sister, couldn’t afford the treatment.”“Why did this not come to my attention? I’m struggling to understand why you didn’t present this boy’s case before the board of directors,” I say.He shrugs his shoulders in response. “I didn’t think it warranted going
Jacob POV“Look, Dad, I caught one!’ says a beaming Liam. A little fish wriggles on the line, gasping for air.“What shall we call him?” I ask.“Who says it’s a he?” he smiles back.“Okay, what shall we call her?”Curiously looking at the fish, his eyes light up and he responds, “Nemo.”“Nemo? Out of all the names you could choose from, you chose that?” I ask.He starts laughing as I tickle his belly. “You ready to go back now, buddy?” I enquire as I reel back my line.We’re on a small paddle boat in the middle of Lake Tahoe. The waters are a deep green, reflecting the last of the afternoon light. All around us there is silence, broken by the occasional sound of a bird squawking. Instead of going all out for Liam’s third birthday, I wanted us to spend some time alone.He’s never been to the lake and responded with a dizzy excitement when I suggested it to him.Charlotte was mortified when I told her, saying something about a boy deserving a big ’ol bash for his third birthday. She had
Jacob POV“I absolutely love it here. Don’t you just love it here?” Nancy ask no one in particular.Conversations with her are awkward and one-sided. Not like she notices—most of the time she’s talking about herself or her friends, neither of which I have any interest in.And yet, here we are.She’s been flaunting me around town like some kind of rag toy as soon as news spread that we’re engaged. Yes, I have a fiancé now. Am I happy? No, but that’s the price you pay for being a Collin.“Jacob, you haven’t touched your food, sweetie,” she harps.I look over at her plate, and she’s hardly eaten a thing. It’s just a bunch of leaves and salad dressing.“So, I’ve been thinking about where we should have the wedding. Your grandmother suggested we do it at the estate in the Hamptons. What do you think?” she asks again, not really asking at all.“Sure, whatever you want, Nancy,” I say, trying to feign interest.“You’re not listening to a thing I’m saying. This is your wedding, too. Also, we h
Emily POV“So, what are your plans for the night?” asks Olivia as she takes another swig of wine. She doesn’t normally drink on the job, but it’s been a slow shift.“Oh, I don’t know. Figured I’d stay here and keep you company,” I say while going through Instagram on my phone.Grabbing my phone out of my hand, she hollers at me.“Boring! You’re a single 27-year-old in one of the best cities in the world. Go out and snare a man in your trap. The night is but a fetus, the world is your oyster, que sera, and whatever else,” she says and points towards the exit.Olivia has a point. Ever since Liam’s death, I haven’t allowed myself to have much fun, except for that one time when we went on a girls’ weekend to Vegas—her idea, by the way.As an attempt to get my mind off things, she sprung the surprise weekend on me. I felt bad because she had already maxed out her credit card to pay for the plane tickets, so I agreed to go.From the moment we landed, it was one disaster after another. First