-Hazel-
After waiting for about 30 minutes extra. A nurse walks into Ellie's office.
"Are you ready?" She asks.
I nodded.
"Follow me."
We passed through the office. All I could note of was the serenity and the cameras that filled the hall. I was led to a suite. White again, I felt safe yet scared. The room had an awful feeling packed with it.
I sat on a leap chair. My legs closed and tight together, fingers grasping the hem of my shirt. I was cold, scared and worried. But I needed to do this for Ma.
"Have you ever been pregnant?"
No, I respond.
"Any history of chronic illness?"
No.
She walks out and I'm left with my thoughts. I bring out my phone to reach the hospital and then I remember I still haven't charged it. Today marks the worst day of my life officially.
She strolls back in after 10 minutes with a Doctor by the dressing I could tell. They never smiled at me. Too serious and efficient.
They led me through a hallway to an exam room. Bright light. Stainless steel. No warmth anywhere.
We'll need to perform a full physical check," the nurse said briskly. "Including bloodwork, pelvic exam, and transvaginal ultrasound."
I blinked. "Now?"
"You said you wanted to be considered urgently."
I nodded. "Yes. Of course."
She handed me a paper gown. "Strip down completely. Place your belongings in the locker. Everything."
When I stepped out, the air felt sharper against my skin. Exposed. I wasn't used to being seen like this—not without control, not without permission.
But I lay back, heart thudding, legs in the cold stirrups. My body no longer belonged to me—it belonged to hope. Or maybe guilt
The doctor was silent as she worked. She didn't ask if I was okay. Just inserted the probe, read the screen, and took notes.
"Uterus is optimal," she murmured to the nurse. "No fibroids. Ovarian reserve slightly diminished but viable. Hormonal profile pending."
They took nine vials of blood. I stared up at the ceiling the whole time.
Another woman came in. Short hair, stern glasses, tablet in hand.
"I'm Dr. Nora, the psychologist. If you're selected, you'll carry a child for one of our private clients. This isn't casual. We vet thoroughly. Tell me—why do you want to do this?"
My throat clenched.
"I need the money," I said. "My mother needs heart surgery. They won't operate unless we put a deposit down today. I'll sign anything."
She didn't blink.
"Do you understand the emotional implications? You won't have parental rights. You'll carry a child you'll never see again."
I swallowed. "I understand."
"And if something goes wrong?"
"What could go wrong?"
She stared at me for a long beat. Then tapped her screen.
The rest was a blur—urine sample, chest X-ray, blood pressure. Another injection to test hormone levels. They gave me a nutritionist. A therapist. I was poked, prodded, weighed, questioned.
I didn't flinch once. Not until the final room.
It was warmer than the others. A sleek table. Velvet chair. A digital screen on the wall displays the words: Legal Consultation – Final Authorization.
A new woman entered. She was older, polished, with thin lips and eyes that didn't blink much.
"You've passed the initial tests. One of our exclusive clients needs a surrogate. Your profile matches. He's wealthy, private, and demands discretion."
"Who is he?" I asked.
Her eyes flickered. "You'll never meet him. Your identity will remain confidential. You'll receive Five hundred thousand dollars—divided into two installments. The first payment will be wired tonight. We've arranged for a medical team to implant the embryo within the week.
A week? My heart stumbled.
"You said your mother needed help immediately. This is your fastest option. Or you don't want this anymore?"
"No—Yes….I mean Yes. I— I do. I need to save my mom. I'll do it, I say in a rush.
She slid a contract across the table. Pages of fine print and red ink. There were sections about bodily autonomy, health risks, clauses about silence, press exposure, and even future liability.
One sentence stood out in bold:
You are agreeing to surrender any legal or emotional claim over the child, effective immediately upon confirmed pregnancy.
I paused. My hands trembled slightly.
"Can I think about it?"
"Her smile was thin. "Of course. But the slot won't remain open long. Surrogacy is highly competitive in elite circles."
I picked up the pen again.
Signed.
***
Later that night, I sat by my mother's bedside, clutching her hand as the machines ticked quietly around us. Her face was so pale. I watched the monitor beep out a lazy rhythm. Too slow. Too fragile.
A nurse entered. "Miss Hazel? The finance office just confirmed payment. The surgery will begin at 6 a.m."
I blinked at her.
"How…?"
The nurse smiled. "Someone made a deposit in full. It came from a private medical account under Honeylid Family Solutions."
I stared at her.
But I already knew.
The first payment had come through. I heaved a sigh of relief and placed my head besides Ma.
My life was changing too quickly.