Chapter 3: The surrogate, Charlotte

"I knew something was changing between them."

The thought had been haunting me for weeks.

Every time David's phone rang, he stepped away to answer it.

Every time he left the house, he seemed distracted.

Every time I asked where he had been, his answer felt shorter than before.

At first, I told myself I was overthinking.

After everything we had been through, I trusted my husband.

I trusted the man who had held me while I cried in the hospital.

The man who promised never to leave me.

The man who told me we would find another way to have a child.

Yet, the uneasy feeling in my chest refused to disappear.

And deep down, I was afraid to ask why.

Three months earlier...

I barely left my room after receiving the doctor's diagnosis.

The words still echoed in my mind.

"You can no longer carry a child."

Every morning, I woke up hoping it had all been a nightmare.

Every night, I cried myself to sleep.

I felt broken.

Incomplete.

Like a part of me had died.

David tried his best to comfort me.

One evening, I sat quietly on the edge of our bed, staring at nothing.

David walked into the room and sat beside me.

"You're thinking about it again."

I forced a smile.

"I'm trying not to."

He gently took my hand.

"Vivian."

I looked at him.

His eyes were full of concern.

"You need to stop blaming yourself."

A tear slipped down my cheek.

"How can I not?"

His grip tightened around my hand.

"This isn't your fault."

"But I can't give you a child."

"You are more important to me than any child."

My heart squeezed painfully.

"Do you mean that?"

He nodded immediately.

"Of course I do."

I looked away.

"You deserve better."

David turned my face toward him.

"Don't ever say that."

His voice was firm.

"I married you because I love you."

Another tear rolled down my cheek.

"And I will keep loving you."

He kissed my forehead gently.

"We'll find a solution."

I wanted to believe him.

So I did.

Because David had always been my safe place.

Or at least, I thought he was.

The pressure didn't disappear.

If anything, it grew worse.

Scarlett Blackstone constantly talked about grandchildren.

At family dinners.

At breakfast.

During weekend visits.

Almost every conversation somehow returned to the same topic.

"A house feels empty without children."

Or—

"I can't wait to hold my grandchild someday."

Sometimes she didn't even realize how much those words hurt.

Other times, I wasn't so sure.

Each comment felt like another reminder of what I couldn't do.

Another reminder of my failure.

One evening, after dinner, I sat alone in the garden.

The cool evening breeze brushed against my skin.

David joined me shortly afterward.

Neither of us spoke for a while.

Then he suddenly said,

"What do you think about a surrogate?"

I looked at him.

"A surrogate?"

He nodded.

"It could work."

My heart skipped.

The idea had crossed my mind before.

But hearing it out loud felt different.

Real.

Scary.

Hopeful.

All at once.

"You mean another woman carrying our baby?"

"Our baby," David corrected gently.

"Our child."

I stared at the flowers ahead.

Could I really do it?

Could I watch another woman carry the child I desperately wanted?

The thought hurt.

Yet the possibility of finally having a family was even stronger.

After several moments, I nodded.

"If that's what it takes."

David squeezed my hand.

"We'll do it together."

A few days later, I called my closest friend.

Beyonce King.

She had been my friend since university.

If anyone could help, it was her.

"Beyonce?"

"Vivian! How are you?"

I smiled weakly.

"I've been better."

Concern immediately filled her voice.

"What's wrong?"

I explained everything.

The diagnosis.

The heartbreak.

The possibility of hiring a surrogate.

There was silence on the other end.

Then Beyonce spoke.

"I might know someone."

My heart jumped.

"What do you mean?"

"Her name is Charlotte Ray."

I frowned.

"You know her?"

"Not personally."

Beyonce paused.

"But I've heard good things about her."

I listened carefully.

"She's responsible."

"Healthy."

"And she's done volunteer work with women who struggle with fertility."

Hope slowly bloomed inside me.

"You think she would agree?"

"I can arrange a meeting."

For the first time in weeks, I felt a small spark of hope.

"Please."

A week later, I met Charlotte Ray.

She was beautiful.

Not in an intimidating way.

Just naturally beautiful.

Soft-spoken.

Polite.

Friendly.

She immediately made me feel comfortable.

After several meetings and background investigations, everything checked out.

She passed every medical examination.

Every legal requirement.

Every psychological evaluation.

Finally, the process moved forward.

The hospital handled everything.

Doctors.

Lawyers.

Paperwork.

Consent forms.

Weeks of appointments followed.

Then came the waiting.

The longest waiting period of my life.

Every day felt like a month.

Every phone call made my heart race.

Then one morning, my phone rang.

I answered immediately.

"Hello?"

The doctor's voice came through.

"Mrs. Blackstone?"

"Yes."

"We have good news."

My breath caught.

The doctor smiled through the phone.

"The procedure was successful."

I froze.

Successful.

It worked.

Tears instantly filled my eyes.

I covered my mouth.

Unable to stop crying.

After everything.

After all the pain.

After all the heartbreak.

There was finally hope.

David arrived home that evening carrying flowers.

The moment he walked through the door, I ran into his arms.

"We're having a baby."

His face lit up.

And for the first time in a long time, we both smiled.

Truly smiled.

Weeks later, another confirmation arrived.

Charlotte was pregnant.

Pregnant with David's child.

The entire family celebrated.

Everyone was excited.

Everyone was happy.

Including me.

At least in the beginning.

Because shortly afterward...

Something started changing.

David visited Charlotte more often.

At first, I thought it was concern.

Then it became routine.

Then it became frequent.

Then it became impossible to ignore.

Every conversation somehow involved Charlotte.

Every appointment involved Charlotte.

Every day seemed to revolve around Charlotte.

And for the first time since the pregnancy was confirmed...

I began to wonder if I was losing my place in my own marriage.

One evening, I stood outside the guest wing where Charlotte had temporarily moved in.

Voices drifted through the slightly open door.

David's voice.

Charlotte's laughter.

Then silence.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach.

Slowly, I pushed the door open.

And what I saw made my blood run cold.