I Became The Fat Surrogate For A Divorced Alpha and Luna

Evelyn’s POV

I sit in the waiting room with my hands locked tight in my lap. The air in the room smells of antiseptic and the lingering pheromones of passers-by.

My hands curl around the hem of my skirt and I try not to fidget too much. But it isn’t easy.

Three other women sit across from or beside me, waiting as well. They are all beautiful, petite women, the kind that are easy on the eyes and make you want to look more than once.

They are nothing like me, with my rolls and folds of skin squeezing tight under my simple floral dress. I subconsciously shrink myself, trying to seem smaller than I actually am.

It isn’t that I am actually obese or out of shape. But my chest is wide, my arms full and my thighs rub together when I walk. To top it off, I am tall, 5’9” of bones and fat.

No matter where I am, I always seem to be the biggest person in the room.

A nurse comes out and calls the lady next to me in. My stomach tightens and my heels click nervously on the floor.

One by one, the women are summoned in. I am the last. When she says my name, I stand up and follow her into a small private office. Inside, my palms are damp so I wipe them on my dress before sitting down.

A woman in a white coat sits behind a desk. She looks calm and professional. She pushes a paper toward me.

“Sign this first,” she says. “It’s a standard NDA. Everything discussed here stays private.”

I nod and sign it without reading every line. I need this too badly to hesitate.

Once done, I hand it back. She gives it a once-over, puts it away and folds her hands on the desk. “Okay. We’ll begin with basic questions. Do you have experience as a surrogate?”

“Yes,” I say, but my voice is quieter than I want. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes. I carried a baby for another couple three years ago.”

“Tell me about that experience in detail, please.”

I nod and take a slow breath. “It was a full-term pregnancy. I was matched through a smaller agency. The intended parents were a married couple who couldn’t conceive on their own. I went through the medical screening, the hormones, the transfer. Once the transfer was complete, I moved in with said couple. I followed every instruction they gave me. I went to all the appointments, I ate what they asked me to eat, I didn’t lift anything heavy. I didn’t drink. I didn’t take any risks.”

The woman writes something down. “And the birth?”

“It was a normal delivery,” I say. “I was in labor for about 6 hours but the baby was delivered safely. A healthy baby boy. I handed him over to his parents the same day, like we agreed. I didn’t ask to stay in contact. They compensated me and then I left.”

“How did you feel afterward?”

I look down at my hands for a second. “I was mostly tired. My body went through a significant change. But I knew it wasn’t my child. I had prepared myself for that, so I recovered fine. Though I never recovered my former… form,” I gesture at myself with a nervous chuckle. “But I adapted to it. My life went back to normal after a few months.”

She nods. “Any other pregnancies?”

I shake my head. “No. Just that one.”

“Are you currently in a relationship?”

“No.”

“Are you experiencing any financial hardship?”

I hesitate only a second. My stomach twists, but I keep my face steady.

Yes, I have significant debt.

But I can’t come clean about that. Not when it means risking getting the job. “No,” I answer simply, hoping the lie doesn’t bleed through my voice.

“Would you like to remain in the child’s life after the birth?”

“No. I understand what this job is. I wouldn’t ask for that.”

She asks a few more questions about my health history, my cycle, whether I smoke or drink, whether I have any support system at home.

I answer each one as calmly as I can. But inside, my nerves keep jumping. I keep wondering if she can tell how badly I need this.

Finally, she sets her pen down. “Thank you, Ms Lily. You can go home now. We’ll be in touch.”

I stand up, my legs feeling a little unsteady. “Okay. Thank you.”

I walk out of Charryville Hospital and into the bright afternoon, the sunlight hitting my face. Outside, I feel like I can actually breathe again.

I look at the hospital again, hoping I will pass the evaluation. Then I hail a taxi and go home.

__

When I lock my apartment door behind me, my phone beeps in my purse. I roll my eyes immediately. It’s Thomas — my ex.

Thomas: You free tonight?

I had dated this scumbag at one of the lowest points in my life — when I first moved to the city. But I quickly grew weary of his dangerous, gang lifestyle and ended things.

When my mom fell sick, I brought her from my hometown to take care of her. But she only got sicker and the medical bills piled up. With no one else to turn to, I took a loan from his boss. And then I kept taking and taking until I incurred a lifetime of debt.

Ma died anyway and life moved on. And I had to work hard to keep paying. But the money I got from working was never enough. So the interest kept growing and growing with the years that passed.

Somehow, five years after my mom passed, I still owe a debt thirty times the amount I originally loaned.

Some months when I can’t meet my deadline, I exchange pussy for an extension. He is my ex after all, so I tell myself it’ll be easy since he’s already familar.

But Thomas, as it seems, doesn’t understand that my “favours” come at a price. Or he doesn’t want to.

I only ever sell myself to him once my debt is due and I am left without a choice.

Why the fuck is he texting me in the middle of the month?

I send a text back.

Me: Not tonight. Not interested.

His response comes quickly.

Thomas: oh don’t be like that sugar plum. You know I love you. And I know that sweet juicy body misses me.

I explode.

Me: you only love me when it’s time to get into my pants. How much of your money has actually gone into helping me pay my debt? ZERO! If you loved me, you’d clear the debt.

Thomas: but baby, you know I can’t do that.

I don’t stop myself this time.

Me: Just like you also CAN’T be seen with me in public? I’m not an idiot, Thomas. I know you’re ashamed of me because I’m fat and don’t look like the bitches you throw your money on at the strip club. Stop fucking texting me.

The typing bubbles appear, then disappear.

I don’t wait for whatever he would say next. I turn the phone off and go to take a long shower.

Afterward, I get ready and go to my cleaning job at a hotel. It’s a long and hard day of doing dishes and scrubbing toilets but the extra tips come in handy.

Once my shift is over, I return home at midnight. I don’t even take my clothes off before I fall into bed.

I glance at my phone. No calls, no texts. Not that I expect any. I am completely alone in this world.

Alone and in debt. The thought is beyond depressing.

This would have been the best time to get wasted on the bottle and just sleep my misery away. But I have an early shift tomorrow and the day after. And the day after.

I have zero days off.

Sleep comes slowly for me that night. I lie there with my eyes open for a long time, listening to the sounds of the quiet while resisting the urge to check my phone again.

Somewhere between one breath and the next, my phone buzzes one more time.

It’s an unknown number.