Truth’s voice echoed in my head. The way she’d apologized like her body failing was a personal offense against me. The way she’d askedwhyI was still committed, like the answer wasn’t obvious. Like I was the kind of man who walked away when things got difficult.
I wasn’t.
I’d told her that. Told her I wasn’t going anywhere. And I’d meant it.
But words were cheap. Words were what men like Phillip used to manipulate and control. Words were what my father wielded like weapons to keep people in line.
I didn’t deal in words.
I dealt in action.
At 6:47 AM, I showered and dressed. Black slacks, white button-down, no tie. Professional but not formal. I made coffeeI didn’t drink and stood at the kitchen island reviewing the contract Raymond had drawn up months ago.
Payment Structure:$50,000 upon confirmed pregnancy via blood test. $50,000 at beginning of second trimester.$50,000 at beginning of third trimester. $100,000 upon successful delivery.
The language was clear. Designed to protect both parties and ensure compliance with the terms.
Truth hadn’t met the first milestone.
The transfer had failed.
According to the contract, she was owed nothing.
I set the contract down and picked up my phone.
At exactly 7 AM, I called Dr. Beaumont’s office. Her receptionist answered on the second ring, professional and chipper in that way medical office staff always were.
“Dr. Beaumont’s office, how may I help you?”
“Amai Landry. I need to speak with Dr. Beaumont.”
“Mr. Landry, Dr. Beaumont doesn’t arrive until eight. Would you like to leave a message or schedule?—”
“Tell her it’s urgent. She’ll take the call.”
A pause. Then, “One moment, please.”
I waited. The hold music was some instrumental jazz that grated against my nerves. I paced the length of my kitchen, counting the seconds until the line clicked back to life.
“Mr. Landry.” Dr. Beaumont’s voice was calm, the voice of someone who’d been woken early but wouldn’t complain about it. “What can I do for you?”
“When can we do the next transfer?”
Silence. Then, “I assume you’re referring to Ms. Renois?”
“You assume correctly.”
“Mr. Landry, I understand you’re eager to move forward, but Ms. Renois needs time to recover. Physically and emotionally. A failed transfer is?—”
“How long?”
Another pause. I could hear her choosing her words carefully. “I’d recommend waiting one full cycle. About six weeks. Her body needs to reset, and frankly, she needs time to process what happened. Failed transfers are devastating for surrogates. The hormones, the hope, the?—”
“What does she need?”
“I’m sorry?”
“What does Truth need?” I clarified, my voice sharper than I intended. “To recover. To be ready. What does she need?”
