“No. Never.”
“Any history of miscarriage or fertility issues in your family?”
“No. My mama had four kids—me and my three sisters. No complications that I know of. My grandmother had six. Everyone was healthy.”
“Good. And your own health? Many chronic conditions? Medications?”
“No. I’m healthy. I had my physical done last month. I put it on the application. Everything came back normal.”
“Excellent.” The sound of Raymond writing. “Now, let’s talk about support. You’re currently living with your mother, correct?”
“Yes. In the Seventh Ward. It’s temporary—I mean, I’m saving up to get my own place, but right now, yeah. I’m with my mama.”
“And does your mother know about this arrangement?”
A pause.
Longer this time.
“She knows I’m interviewing for a job,” Truth said carefully. “I haven’t told her the details yet. I wanted to make sure it was real first. But if—when—I do this, I’ll tell her. I don’t keep secrets from my mama.”
I heard the honesty in her voice.
The slight correction—iftowhen.
She wanted this.
“That’s understandable,” Raymond said. “But you should know that the contract includes a strict non-disclosure agreement. You cannot tell anyone who the father is. Not your mother. Not your sisters. Not anyone.”
“I understand. I read that part. Multiple times, actually. I highlighted it.” She laughed nervously. “I highlighted a lot of things. I went through the whole contract with a legal dictionary from the library because I wanted to make sure I understood every word.”
Raymond’s pen stopped moving.
Even he was surprised.
“That’s… thorough,” he said.
“I don’t sign things I don’t understand,” Truth said. “My ex-husband taught me that lesson the hard way.”
There it was.
The wound.
The reason she was here.
I leaned forward slightly, listening harder.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Raymond said, his voice softening just a fraction. “Let’s move on. Do you understand the terms of the surrogacy? The payment structure, the medical requirements, the expectations?”
“Yes.” Her voice was stronger now. “Fifty thousand upon confirmed pregnancy. Fifty thousand second trimester. Fifty thousand third trimester. One hundred thousand upon delivery. All medical expenses covered. I attend all appointments. I follow all medical advice. I don’t drink, smoke, or do anything that could harm the baby. And after delivery, I walk away. The baby is his. Not mine.”
Silence.
Then Raymond, “That’s correct.”
“And if something goes wrong?” Truth asked. “If I miscarry? Or if there are complications?”
“You keep whatever’s been paid up to that point. The contract terminates. No penalties.”
