Stared at Amai’s name in my contacts.
Put the phone back down.
Picked it up again.
He wouldn’t answer. It was 2:00 AM, and he was probably asleep or busy or with someone else or any number of things that didn’t include sitting around, waiting for a failed surrogate to call him in the middle of the night.
But my thumb was already pressing his name before I could talk myself out of it.
The phone rang once.
Twice.
Then his voice, rough with sleep but alert: “What’s wrong?”
Nothello. Notdo you know what time it is. Justwhat’s wrong, like he’d been waiting for this call, like he knew something was broken and needed fixing.
My throat closed. I couldn’t speak for a long moment, couldn’t get the words past the tightness in my chest.
“Truth.” His voice was sharper now, more awake. “Talk to me.”
“It didn’t work,” I whispered.
Silence.
Then, “I know. Dr. Beaumont called me.”
Of course she had. Of course, he already knew. I was the last person to find out about my own failure.
“I’m sorry,” I said, and my voice cracked on the last word.
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because my body didn’t do what it was supposed to do.” The words came out in a rush, desperate and raw. “Because you picked me, and I let you down, and now you’re going to find someone else whose body actually works, and I’m going to be back where I started with nothing and?—”
“Truth.” His voice cut through my spiral, firm but not harsh. “That’s not how this works.”
“I don’t know how this works.” I was crying now, hot tears sliding down my temples into my hair. “I just know I failed. I know my body failed, and that’s all that matters in the end, right? Biology. Science. Results. And I didn’t deliver.”
“You didn’t fail,” Amai said, and there was a tenderness in his voice that I couldn’t ignore. Something that sounded almost like anger, but not at me. “The transfer failed. There’s a difference.”
“Is there?” I pressed my free hand against my eyes, trying to stop the tears. “Because it feels the same from where I’m sitting.”
“It’s not the same.”
“What if the next one fails too?” The question burst out of me before I could stop it, all the fear I’d been holding back for two weeks spilling over. “What if my body can’t do this? What if there’s something wrong with me that the doctors didn’t catch, and I’m just wasting your time and your money, and?—”
“Then we try again,” Amai interrupted. His voice was steady, certain, like he was stating a fact rather than making a promise. “And again. Until it works.”
I went still. “Why?”
“Because I picked you.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world. Like it explained everything. “And I don’t change my mind.”
My breath hitched at those words.
I cried harder then, but it was different. Not the desperate, terrified crying from earlier. Something rawer. More honest.
Amai didn’t try to stop me. Didn’t tell me it was okay or that everything would work out. He just stayed on the line, breathing steady and even, a solid presence on the other end of the phone while I fell apart.
