- Hazel-
I couldn't fully process what just happened. He had such a strong aura. So harsh and mean. A God.
"Snap out of it" I fired back at myself.
I rushed towards Ma's room. I turn the corner and shove open the door—Empty.
The bed is stripped, and the machines are silent. Gone.
My stomach drops. "What—"
A nurse passing by glances at me. "You looking for Mrs. Rogers?"
Yes—yes! Where is she?
ICU. Her heart rate dropped—she coded briefly. They had to move her.
Ma Coded???
Not again, this can't be happening. I didn't wait to hear more I rushed with my shoes squeaking against the floors, my hands trembling and body shaking as I pushed through the double doors towards the ICU.
I press the intercom. "Hazel Rogers. I'm her daughter. Please—my mother—"
The door buzzes open. I dash through. The ICU feels different. Colder. Quieter. Like time has slowed down to make room for death to linger longer.
I pause before entering. Through the glass, I see her. Pale. Hooked up to even more wires. A breathing mask covers her mouth. She looks so small.
I push the door open slowly and walk in, the beep of the machines syncing with my uneven breathing.
"Ma…" I whisper, dropping into the chair beside her. Her eyelids don't flutter. Nothing moves. "Please don't leave me…"
It's then a doctor enters. Early forties. Stern face. Thick glasses.
"You're Hazel?"
I nod.
"Your mother's condition has worsened significantly. Is there anything she has been doing that could trigger this he asks?
No, I say still shaking. She likes to assist with some home chores and that's all.
"Well Her heart function has dropped significantly since this morning."
"I—I thought you said she was stable," I say, voice cracking.
"She was. But we didn't expect this rapid decline. She needs surgery. Soon. A stent, at minimum, but it may become a full bypass if the deterioration continues."
"Okay. Do it. Whatever it takes."
He clears his throat. "We need a deposit. The surgery's urgent. But the hospital's policy—"
"How much?" I ask, trying to sound calm.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand for the full procedure, plus ICU recovery."
I feel like the floor just fell out beneath me.
"I—I don't have that."
His expression doesn't change. "We can stabilize her for now, but without the surgery, her chances decline fast."
"I have insurance," I add, desperate.
"Limited coverage. You've already hit the cap."
I close my eyes, my throat burning.
"Is there a payment plan?"
"Not for emergency cardiac surgery. The financial office can explain your options.
"She'll die," I whisper.
His face doesn't change. "You have options. Speak to the financial office.
He nods once and leaves.
Options? What options?
I stare at my mom, barely breathing, as if her body is waiting for me to save her.
I don't have that kind of money. I don't even have five thousand to my name.
I stumble out of the ICU room, tears prickling my eyes. I slump into the hallway just outside the ICU, feeling numb. My phone's dead. My brain's gone offline. Everything is a blur.
If only I had a good father who cared. My father hated me and Ma. Abandoned us for a rich woman who gave him everything he wanted. He didn't even care about us a tiny bit.
I lean back against the wall, close my eyes, and try to take slow breaths. Two nurses round the corner, unaware I'm listening.
"… he's desperate," one whispers.
"Yeah. The guy just wants a child, not a wife. Mega-rich. He's paying top dollar—like, six figures—for a surrogate."
"Six?" the other gasps. "Where do I sign?"
They laugh. Then disappear around the corner. My heart stops.
A surrogate?
I straighten, blood roaring in my ears. My legs move before my brain catches up. I find the nearest desk and blurt, "That private donor surrogacy—where do I go?"
The woman behind the counter looks up, startled. "Excuse me?"
"The surrogate contract," I say again. "Where do I go to apply?"
She gives me a wary once-over. "We don't give out information, ma'am. It's handled privately."
"I heard two nurses talking. Please," I plead. "It's urgent."
She sighs. Then slides me a white card.
Honeylid Family Solutions – Discreet. Secure. Confidential.
An address. A number. I don't ask questions. I just go.
I quickly took a cab and got there. The building was white, had no warm lights, and was weirdly tall.
The air was damp and filled with evening mist. I was still a bit soaked from the rain, I paused to clean my sneakers because they were looking too dirty. My face was a complete mess. But I know that doesn't matter. All they need is a healthy person.
I walked inside and everything was sharp, polished marble floors and tall glass walls. I headed to the waiting area and there was no receptionist in sight.
I observed at the ending a writing at the top "Check-In" I walked towards it and knocked.
"Come in"
I'm greeted by a woman in a black gown. Looks polished and neat. She introduces herself as Ellie.
I'm Hazel Rogers I say softly.
"You are here for the surrogacy contract?"
"Yes," I breathe.
"Have you been briefed?"
No. But I'll do it. I'm ready for anything.
She stares at me longer than necessary. "You do realize the full implications that come with surrogacy? You have no business in the life of this child. You're a machine and nothing more. You can never know who the intended parent is. No contact at all."
"I understand ma", I respond.
"The compensation is $500,000. The first $250,000 is wired upon medical clearance and contract confirmation."
"Do I meet all these?" I ask worried.
"We'll determine that after your screening. But your willingness matters. We'll begin with basic paperwork."
"And… the rest?
"In increments, throughout pregnancy. Final installment after delivery. You will sign away parental rights upon successful handover."
She slides the contract across the desk.
"Read it carefully," she says.
I skim. I barely see the words. My heart still thumping from the decision I'm about to take.
All I hear is my mother's flatline echoing in my head and the total wired at the bottom of the form.
I swallow hard.
No child. No contact. No identity was disclosed. Just money and a new life growing inside of me—for someone else. A child I'll never meet.
A life for a life.
I pick up the pen. My hand trembles—but I sign.
Ellie nods. "Well thank you, wishing you luck."