The Unknown Caller

Mia stared at the phone number until her eyes went blurry. She read it forwards and backwards, checking if it spelled anything, if it made sense. It didn't. She checked her door lock three times, then looked out the peephole at the empty hallway.

Who left anonymous notes? People in movies. People in trouble.

She was tempted to throw it away, to pretend she'd never seen it. But something about the phrasing "Don't sign anything" made her pause. Not "don't do this" or "this is dangerous." Just don't sign.

At 11:47 PM, she texted the number: "Who is this?"

The response came within two minutes: "Someone who knows what you're getting into. Call me tomorrow. Not from your apartment."

Mia deleted the conversation and set her phone down with shaking hands. She pulled out the contract and tried to read it properly this time, but the legal jargon made her eyes glaze over. Terms like "relinquishment of parental rights" and "non-interference clause" blurred together. 

There was a section about medical procedures, another about confidentiality violations and the financial penalties attached. The number at the bottom made her stomach flip; if she broke the NDA, she'd owe ten million dollars.

She didn't have ten million dollars. She didn't have ten thousand.

By morning, she'd convinced herself the note was a prank or some kind of scam. Someone trying to scare her out of the surrogacy so they could take the position instead. She almost didn't call the number.

But she did. During her break at the hospital, in the stairwell where no one could hear her.

"Hello?" A woman's voice, older, careful.

"You left me a note," Mia said.

"Yes. I'm glad you called. My name is Patricia Moss. I was a surrogate for the same couple you're being considered for."

Mia's grip tightened on her phone. "What?"

"Five years ago. Different fertility clinic, different doctor, but the same arrangement. The same couple." Patricia paused. "I need to meet with you in person. There are things you need to know."

"Like what?"

"Not over the phone. Can you meet me tomorrow? There's a coffee shop on Fifth and Morrison. Noon?"

Every logical part of Mia's brain screamed that this was insane. Meeting with strangers, listening to warnings that might be nothing.

"Okay. How will I know you?"

"I'll find you."

The call ended.

Mia went through the rest of her shift in a daze, mechanically checking vital signs and delivering medications. Her coworker, Jasmine, noticed immediately.

"You look like someone stole your car," Jasmine said, handing her a stack of charts.

"Just tired," Mia lied.

The next morning, she left early.. The coffee shop was small and crowded, the kind of place where people minded their own business. She ordered a black coffee she didn't want and sat at a corner table.

Patricia Moss found her exactly at noon. She was a woman in her early thirties, with blonde hair pulled back in a neat bun.

She sat down without asking permission.

"Thank you for coming," Patricia said. 

"Why leave me a note? Why not just call?"

"Because I wasn't sure you'd answer. And because I wanted to be careful." The couple you're being considered for, the Crosses they're not who they claim to be.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that Damien Cross and Victoria. I carried a child for them five years ago. Healthy pregnancy, healthy delivery. And then they took the baby, and I never heard from them again. Except..."

Mia leaned forward. "Except what?"

"Except I started seeing things. Following the news about Damien Cross's business, his marriage. And things didn't add up. Victoria never went out with the kid, never posted pictures. It was like my child didn’t exist. So I did something I probably shouldn't have done. I hired a private investigator."

Patricia pulled out her phone and showed Mia a photo. A child, a girl, maybe four years old in what looked like a boarding school photo. 

"That’s your child?" Mia asked.

Yes, she answered.

Mia felt cold run down her spine."But... they told me..."

"They lie. That's the thing you need to understand. Whatever story they told you, whatever reasons he gave for why they need a surrogate it's not the real reason." Patricia leaned back. "I never found out what the real reason was. But I know it wasn't about infertility. And I know that becoming involved with that family cost me more than I expected."

"Cost you what?"

Patricia's jaw tightened. "My privacy, safety and ability to move on with my life." She pulled down the collar of her shirt slightly, revealing a faded scar that ran along her collarbone.

"A car accident. That's what the police called it. I was hit by a vehicle that ran a red light, and the driver was never found. This happened three months after I started investigating them 

Mia's mouth had gone dry. "You're saying they tried to kill you?"

"I'm saying I have no proof, but I also don't believe in coincidences. And I'm saying that whatever they want a surrogate for, it's important enough to them to protect with extreme prejudice."

They sat in silence for a moment. The coffee shop noise continued around them, conversations, espresso machines, the background music that no one listened to.

"Why are you telling me this?" Mia asked finally.

"Because I made peace with what happened to me, but I couldn't make peace with the idea that they'd keep doing this. Keep using other women. And because you look the same way I did five years ago, “desperate” desperate enough to ignore red flags.

Mia felt her face flush. "I'm not……"

"Your brother," Patricia said gently. "He needs money for medical treatment. That's why you're doing this."

Mia didn't answer, but she didn't have to.

"I thought so. They target women like us. Women with genuine hardships, legitimate reasons to need the money. Women who won't ask too many questions because they can't afford to walk away.

" Patricia stood up. "I can't tell you what to do. But I can tell you that Five million dollars might not be worth what comes after. You need to be very careful about what you sign."

"Do you know what they actually want the surrogate for?" Mia asked. "If I'm going to do this, I need to know what I'm actually agreeing to."

Patricia shook her head. "No I don't. But I have a theory, and it's not a good one." She pulled out a business card and handed it to Mia. 

"This is a lawyer. Not the kind who works for rich people. The kind who works for people who need protecting. If you decide to go through with this, call him first. Have him review the contract. And if you change your mind..."

She trailed off, letting the implication hang there.

"Thank you," Mia said quietly.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Dr. Reid: "The Crosses would like to meet with you this Friday. They're very interested. Congratulations.