I carried my sister’s baby for nine months because she couldn’t have children. But minutes after giving birth, my husband begged me, “Please don’t give him the baby yet.” Then he showed me some text messages that made me realize I had to betray my sister.
Carol had always wanted a child, a desire that seemed to be part of her.
She was the little girl who carried dolls under one arm and a diaper bag under the other. She was the teenager all the neighbors relied on to babysit.
She was the woman who celebrated every pregnancy announcement.
So, when the doctors told her it was safe to conceive, something terrible happened to her.
She stopped answering calls and coming to Sunday dinners. She muted the family chat and ignored all messages.
For months, I felt like I was watching her disappear.
Carol had always wanted to have a child.
One evening she showed up at my house with swollen eyes.
When I opened the door, she walked right in, before I could even say hello.
“I have to ask you something.” She took my hands and leaned toward me. “Would you ever consider becoming our surrogate mother?”
For a moment, I honestly thought I’d misunderstood.
Carol immediately broke the silence. “You don’t have to answer now. Forget what I asked if it’s too much. I know. I know, and I shouldn’t have come here like this.”
“Carol. Stop.”
He showed up at my house with swollen eyes.
He looked at me with that raw, shameful look that made my chest hurt.
I said, “It would be an honor. But first I need to talk to Paul.”
