– Hazel –
I couldn't fully process what had just happened. He had such a strong aura. Harsh. Commanding. Godlike.
"Snap out of it," I muttered, shaking my head.
I rushed toward Ma's room, turned the corner, and shoved the door open—
Empty.
The bed was stripped. The machines are silent.
Gone.
My stomach dropped. "What—?"
A nurse passing by glanced at me.
"Are you looking for Mrs. Rogers?"
"Yes—yes! Where is she?" I stammered.
"ICU. Her heart rate dropped—she coded briefly. They had to move her."
Ma coded?
No. Not again. This can't be happening.
I didn't wait to hear more. I ran across the floor as I bolted, hands and entire body trembling with fear. I pushed through the doors toward the ICU.
I slammed the intercom button. "Hazel Rogers. I'm her daughter. Please—my mother—"
The door buzzed open.
I rushed in. The ICU felt different. Colder. Quieter. Like time had slowed just to make room for death to linger a little longer.
Through the glass window, I saw her.
Pale. Hooked up to more wires than I could count. A breathing mask covered her face. She looked so small.
I stepped in slowly, the door hissing shut behind me. The beeping machines synced with my uneven breathing as I dropped into the chair beside her.
"Ma…" I whispered. Her eyelids didn't flutter. Nothing moved. "Please don't leave me…"
The door opened behind me. A doctor walked in—early forties, stern face, thick glasses.
"You're Hazel?"
I nodded.
"Your mother's condition has worsened significantly. Has she done anything lately that could have triggered this?" he asked, clipboard in hand.
"No," I said, still shaking. "She likes to help with light chores, that's it."
"Well… her heart function has dropped sharply since this morning."
"I—I thought you said she was stable," I said, my voice cracking.
"She was. But we didn't anticipate this kind of decline. She needs surgery. Soon. A stent, at minimum. If it worsens, it may require a full bypass."
"Okay. Do it. Whatever it takes," I said quickly.
He cleared his throat. "We'll need a deposit. The surgery's urgent—but the hospital's policy—"
"How much?" I asked, trying to sound calm.
"Two hundred and fifty thousand for the full procedure, plus ICU recovery."
It felt like the floor vanished beneath me.
"I—I don't have that kind of money."
His expression remained blank. "We can stabilize her temporarily, but without surgery, her chances decline fast."
"I have insurance," I said desperately.
"Limited coverage. You've already hit your cap."
My throat burned. I closed my eyes for a second.
"Is there a payment plan?"
"Not for emergency cardiac surgery. The financial office can explain your options."
"She'll die…" I whispered.
He didn't flinch. "You still have options. Please speak to the financial department."
And with that, he nodded and walked out.
Options? What options?
I looked at my mother— she's barely breathing, chest rising and falling with mechanical help.
I didn't have that kind of money. I didn't even have five thousand to my name.
I stumbled out of the ICU room, tears burning my eyes. I slumped into the hallway just outside, everything around me a blur. My phone was dead. My brain had gone offline.
If only I had a good father. One who cared.
But no—my father hated me and Ma. Abandoned us for some rich woman who gave him everything. He never looked back. Never cared. Not once.
I leaned back against the wall and shut my eyes, trying to steady my breath.
Two nurses rounded the corner nearby, unaware I could hear them.
"…he's desperate," one whispered.
"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 gasped. "Where do I sign?"
They laughed down the hall and disappeared.
My heart stopped beating for a moment.
A surrogate?
This is a golden opportunity. I straightened, blood roaring in my ears. My legs moved before my mind caught up.
I ran to the nearest nurses' station and blurted, "That private donor surrogacy—where do I go?"
The woman behind the desk looked up, startled. "Excuse me?"
"The surrogate contract," I said again. "Where do I go to apply?"
She studied me warily. "We don't give out that information, ma'am. It's handled privately."
"I overheard two nurses talking," I pleaded. "Please. It's urgent."
After a long pause, she sighed. Then slide a small white card across the desk.
Honeylid Family Solutions
Discreet. Secure. Confidential.
There was an address. A number. I didn't ask questions. I just went.
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."