The Clinic

The waiting room didn’t look like a fertility clinic. It looked more like a five-star hotel lobby. Soft white lighting poured from hidden coves in the ceiling, highlighting the curved marble reception desk and the velvet-backed chairs set around delicate glass tables. Everything gleamed. Even the receptionist’s voice was impossibly smooth.

Lili sat with her hands folded tightly in her lap, her cheap canvas tote tucked beneath her feet like it might give her away. Her dress, plain navy cotton with a high neckline and no sleeves, suddenly felt like the wrong choice. Not modest enough. Not expensive enough. Not enough of anything, really.

When her name was called, she stood quickly, heart racing. A tall woman in pale peach heels and a tailored cream blouse greeted her with a firm, professional smile. She looked about forty, with perfect posture, expensive perfume, and hair that didn't dare misbehave.

“Liliana Vale? Please, come with me.”

The consultation room was just as luxurious. Ivory walls, abstract art, a single orchid blooming on the corner of the desk. The woman sat across from her, carefully reviewing the forms Lili had just handed over.

“I’m Dr. Emmeline Strathmore,” she said crisply, flipping through the pages. “I see you’ve applied to be a gestational surrogate.”

Lili nodded once. “Yes.”

Dr. Strathmore’s eyes moved over the forms. “Thank you for coming in. We’re always grateful to applicants. Now, I see here you’re twenty-one, a little younger than our usual surrogates… let me just—ah.”

She stopped on one page and gave Lili a polite but definitive smile. “I see here you marked that you haven’t previously carried a pregnancy to term. Is that correct?”

Lili tried not to shrink under the weight of it. “Yes.”

She’d suspected that might be a problem. When she’d reached the question about previous pregnancies and had to circle zero, the blank pages that followed were a clear warning. But she'd continued, hoping maybe, just maybe, they'd make an exception.

Dr. Strathmore gave a slow, understanding nod. “Unfortunately, for surrogacy placements, particularly at this level of clinic, we do require documented evidence of a healthy, full-term pregnancy. It reduces risk for the intended parents and gives us a better sense of medical outcomes.”

“Right. That makes sense,” Lili said softly, though disappointment was already curling hot in her chest. She had guessed this would be the case. It was just… she’d hoped.

She kept her posture straight and her expression smooth, even though the weight of it pressed down. The unpaid funeral costs. The medical bills. The student debt that never stopped growing.

Her part-time job at Rosewood Floral, assembling arrangements in the back while her manager complained about margins, wasn’t cutting it. Not since her mom had died last year and left her with everything. The bills, the apartment, the guilt.

The bills weren’t just annoying. They were a ticking bomb.

The hospital had sent one last notice, $14,700 still owed for the emergency transport and final overnight stay. Insurance hadn’t covered enough. And now it had gone to collections.

Then there were the student loans, both federal and private. She was six months behind on the private ones, and their interest was predatory. Every day she didn’t pay, the balance grew faster than she could track. Her email inbox was a graveyard of missed statements and final warnings.

Last week, a notice slipped under her door.

Final rent demand.

If she missed the next payment, she’d lose the apartment.

Her mother’s apartment. The one thing she hadn’t let go of. The only piece of her mom she could still touch.

She had already sold her mom’s jewelry. Her textbooks. Her own bike. She had begged her boss for more hours, applied for remote gigs, even considered walking into a strip club, but she’d chickened out at the last second.

That’s why she was here. Not a hospital. Not a budget agency.

She’d come to the best. Because the best paid the most.

“Well,” Dr. Strathmore continued, flipping the page, “you also applied to be an egg donor.”

Lili’s eyes lifted hopefully. “Yes.”

“Now that,” the doctor said, tapping her pen lightly, “should not be a problem at all.”

A breath left Lili’s chest. She didn’t realize she’d been holding it.

“We’ll do some hormone panels and a genetic history review, but on first glance, you look like an excellent candidate.”

Relief spread through her body, warm and trembling. She managed a small smile. “That’s good. Really good.”

She hesitated. Would it sound desperate if she asked?

“How many times can someone donate?” she asked instead, voice light.

Dr. Strathmore’s brow arched slightly. “We follow very strict medical limits. But yes, multiple cycles are possible, depending on how your body responds.”

Lili nodded quickly, trying to calculate. Could she cover everything in four cycles? Five?

Dr. Strathmore continued reading through the paperwork, her eyes flicking back to Lili every few moments. It made her nervous. She could feel the weight of being observed, not just assessed. Her thoughts started to race again, spiraling toward rent and utilities and the overdue credit card tied to her mom’s name.

Then, without lifting her eyes, Dr. Strathmore spoke again.

“You know,” she said slowly, cautiously, “if you were still interested in being a surrogate, there is another path you could consider.”

Lili’s eyes snapped up. “Oh?”

The doctor hesitated. “We do very occasionally receive… private requests. Highly specific. Not part of our standard program.”

Lili sat forward. “Really? Do you know where I could… find something like that?”

Dr. Strathmore gave her a measured look. “They’re rare. And some would consider them... invasive. Even inappropriate. But they do exist.”

“I don’t mind,” Lili said quickly. “If it pays well. I mean—sorry. I just—”

“It pays very well,” the woman confirmed.

Lili’s heart thudded. “Then I’d like to know more. Please.”

Another beat of silence.

“In these cases,” Dr. Strathmore said carefully, “you would be asked to carry your own biological child. No egg retrieval. No embryo transfer. Just insemination. Natural conception, in a sense.”

Lili blinked. “You mean… just like regular pregnancy?”

“Yes. Just like you’d conceived on your own.”

She processed that. It was a little surprising, but also… not all that different from doing both egg donation and surrogacy, just at the same time.

“So… like a turkey baster situation?” she asked dryly.

Dr. Strathmore didn’t smile. “That would be something you and the client would discuss.”

Lili nodded slowly. “Okay. Yeah. I’d be up for that.”

The doctor seemed to study her for a moment longer, then gave a single nod. “These clients are typically very high profile. Which means we begin with a visual review. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to take some photos. Just for submission.”

Lili straightened her shoulders. “That’s okay. Go ahead.”

Dr. Strathmore stood, smooth and deliberate. “Good. Then let’s begin.”