Shadows of a lost heiress

Anaïs Iluak was all too familiar with the symphony of waves crashing against the rocky shore, but it irritated her tonight as she sat by the window of their little wooden shack. Her sketchpad, filled with crude outlines of gorgeous costumes and confident stances dancing across the pages, was illuminated by the faint light of a single lantern.

One drawing, a picture of herself on a brightly lit runway, caught her attention as her fingers traced the lines. "Paris," she whispered, picturing the cheers of a devoted audience. However, her reverie was abruptly cut short by the harsh, cruel reality of her father's wheezing cough filling the air.

She rushed to his bedside. "Papa?" she murmured tremulously. Her father, Tuarik, turned feebly, his eyes weary and cheeks sunken, clear signs of his deteriorating health. He croaked, "I'm fine," though he was out of breath from the exertion.

Anaïs adjusted his blanket and replied, "Stop saying that. You're not okay." The sight of the almost finished medicine bottles on the table made her stomach knot. "We can't keep pretending." The money for the next dose was simply not enough.

Her father’s rough fingers shook as they touched hers. Despite his kindness, his words felt like stones pressing on her chest. "Anaïs, don’t waste your life worrying about me."

She took a deep breath. "Stop saying that. We’ll solve this. I'll figure it out." But as she stood there, her eyes lingering on the growing pile of unpaid bills on the counter, the harsh reality set in, she was running out of time.

The moonlight cast shadows across her face while the sea murmured secrets through the broken window. A mix of despair and determination brewed in her heart as her thoughts raced. Then she heard it, a faraway sound, the horn of a ferry announcing its arrival. Gripping the window’s edge, she wondered possibility or just another harsh reminder that time was slipping away.

Clutching her portfolio against the wind, Anaïs walked up the small cobblestone road leading to the market square. There weren’t many drawings in it, only a handful of concepts she hoped would someday shape her future. But her confidence faltered today; the sting of the last agency's rejection still felt like a fresh wound.

The square was alive with activity. Vendors called out their wares, and the scents of freshly baked bread and fish mingled with the coastal air. Anaïs recognized Anya, a childhood friend, balancing a basket of oysters with her hip.

"Anaïs!" Anya greeted her, a kind smile faltering as she took in Anaïs’s weary expression. "Rejected by another agency?"

Forcing a smile, Anaïs replied, "I didn’t even make it past the receptionist. They’re not exactly looking for ‘small-town charm.’"

Anya frowned. "Those people wouldn’t recognize talent if it hit them in the face. Your sketches are incredible. And you, " She paused. "You’re stunning."

Anya's eyes narrowed. "What are you thinking?"

"I don’t know yet," Anaïs admitted. But as her gaze fell on a flyer pinned to the market’s bulletin board, her chest tightened. Its bold headline read: “Life-Changing Opportunity: Surrogacy Contract. Unimaginable Compensation.”

As Anaïs sat at the harbor, gazing at the boat docked in the distance, the words from the flyer lingered in her thoughts. Even if surrogacy seemed like an absurd idea, the promise of “life-changing compensation” seemed to mock her desperation as she clutched the flyer in her hand.

She imagined her father’s relief if she could settle the debts and get him the medicine he needed. And what if she could finally escape this small, suffocating town to chase her dreams?

"Thinking about running away?"

A deep voice startled her. Turning, she saw Marco, a local fisherman, leaning casually against a post. His playful smile faded when he noticed the intensity in her expression.

Quickly tucking the flyer into her pocket, she replied, "No. Just… thinking."

Marco glanced toward the ferry and nodded. "Be careful. It’s easy to dream about leaving, but once you go, it’s harder to come back."

Anaïs looked back at the boat, his words lingering in the cool evening air. Was she truly prepared for the consequences of this choice? The idea of carrying someone else’s child felt alien, almost inhuman. But the alternative, watching her father waste away, was unbearable.

When Anaïs returned home, she opened the door to find her father, who rarely left his bed, sitting upright. His smile, though weak, seemed genuine.

"I thought you’d spend all day at the market," he said, his voice still raspy.

Hiding the flyer behind her back, she replied, "I just wanted to check on you."

Tuarik gestured for her to sit beside him. "I see what you’re doing, Anaïs, working yourself to the bone. You don’t need to carry everything on your shoulders."

Her throat tightened. "If not me, then who?" she asked, her voice trembling with suppressed frustration.

He sighed, looking at her with a mix of sorrow and affection. "You’re so much like your mother. Always trying to fix the world. But Anaïs…" His tone softened. "Promise me you’ll live for yourself too."

The flyer burned in her hand, hidden from his sight. Could she make that promise while considering such a drastic decision? Guilt weighed heavily on her, but she nodded anyway.

As Tuarik’s gaze shifted to the pile of unpaid bills on the bedside table, Anaïs felt the crushing weight of reality. She brushed a strand of hair from his face and whispered, "I’ll fix this, Papa. No matter what."

After lingering by his side for a few moments, she returned to her desk. She unfolded the flyer and read it again, her heart racing. The words seemed louder now: “Generous compensation. Immediate payment. Complete confidentiality required.”

That night, Anaïs sat at her desk, her sketchbook and the flyer spread out in front of her. Her pencil hovered over a blank page, the weight of the decision she was about to make smothering the creative spark that usually came so easily.

Her dreams of runways and lights felt more distant than ever. How could she bring someone else’s vision to life when her world was falling apart?

The creak of the door startled her. She turned to see her father standing shakily in the doorway.

"Papa, you should be resting," she said, rushing to his side.

His voice, though weak, was firm. "I can’t rest knowing you’re carrying so much." He hesitated, his gaze heavy with meaning. "Be careful with whatever you’re planning, Anaïs. Some costs can’t be measured in money."

His words pierced her, but as she helped him back to bed, a stronger voice within her began to rise. She wasn’t just doing this for herself. This was her chance to save his life, and, perhaps, reclaim her own.

Returning to her desk, Anaïs picked up the phone, her hands trembling. She dialed the number on the flyer.

After two rings, a composed, professional voice answered. "Thank you for calling. How can I assist you?"

Anaïs inhaled deeply, steadying herself. "I’m… considering applying for the surrogacy position."

The operator’s response was calm yet encouraging. "Excellent. Please provide your details and we’ll guide you through the next steps."

With her heart pounding, Anaïs gave her name. After a brief pause, the operator’s tone shifted, almost intrigued.

"Interesting… Welcome, Ms. Iluak. Our client may be looking for someone just like you."