I contacted a woman from a private group. Her name was Lena Torres. Her voice was calm, professional, yet strangely distant.
“We work with elite clients,” she said. “You’ll receive one hundred twenty thousand dollars. We’ll cover everything — medical bills, housing, nutrition. But you must remain discreet. No one can know.”
My voice trembled. “Will I have to… be with anyone?”
She chuckled softly. “No, sweetheart. It’s all medical. The embryo belongs to a married couple who can’t have children. You’re just helping them. No connection to you. After birth, you walk away — safe, respected, and financially secure.”
I sat there, staring at my phone for a long time. Then I looked at David — pale, breathing weakly — and at Sophie sleeping beside him.
Three days later, I texted Lena: “I’ll do it.”
The Secret
Everything moved quickly.
They flew me to a private clinic in Los Angeles for medical exams and psychological tests.
When they handed me the contract, it was twenty pages long. I didn’t read every line. The last sentence said enough:
“The surrogate voluntarily waives all rights to the child and agrees to maintain strict confidentiality.”
I signed.
A week later, they implanted the embryo. I told everyone I was taking a temporary job out of town. Even David didn’t know. He thought I was working overtime to pay for his treatment.
