Alive in a way that made my head spin.
“Sit,” I said.
My voice came out lower than I intended. Rougher.
She moved toward the chair—one of the wingback leather chairs positioned across from my desk. Her steps were careful, measured, like she was walking across ice that might crack.
She sat.
Smoothed her dress over her knees.
Folded her hands in her lap.
And then—because she couldn’t help herself—she started talking.
“I just want to say thank you for this opportunity,” she said, words tumbling out too fast. “I know you’ve intervieweda lot of candidates and I’m—I mean, I understand this is a big decision and I don’t take it lightly. I’ve read the entire contract. Twice. With a legal dictionary because I wanted to make sure I understood every single word, and I highlighted the important parts—well, I highlighted most of it actually because it all seemed important—but I understand what you’re asking for and I understand what I’m agreeing to and I?—”
She stopped herself.
Took a breath.
“Sorry. I’m talking too much. I do that when I’m nervous.”
I didn’t respond.
Just watched her.
She shifted in the chair. Uncrossed her ankles. Crossed them again.
“I’m qualified,” she said, quieter now but still filling the silence like it was a physical thing she couldn’t stand. “I’m healthy. My family has good genetics—no history of complications, no chronic conditions. I’ve never been pregnant before, but my mama had four kids with no problems, and my grandmother had six. I work in healthcare, so I understand medical protocols and I’m good at following instructions. I don’t drink, I don’t smoke, I don’t do anything that would put a pregnancy at risk. And I?—”
She paused.
Met my eyes again.
“I keep my promises,” she said. “When I say I’m going to do something, I do it. That’s important to me. My word means something. So, if I sign that contract, if I agree to carry your baby, I’m not going to change my mind halfway through. I’m not going to get attached and try to keep the baby. I understand what this is. A business arrangement. Biology and a check. That’s it.”
The words should have reassured me.
They didn’t.
Because I could hear the truth underneath them—the desperation, the need, the hunger for something better than what she had. She wasn’t lying. She meant every word.
But she was also trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince me.
I leaned forward slightly.
Rested my forearms on the desk.
She tensed.
“Why?” I asked.
One word.
She blinked. “Why what?”
“Why are you here?”
