One

Naomi POV

The bell above the front door jingles, and my heart drops straight down into my stomach.

I am wiping down the counter with a damp rag when Mr. Harrison, the bank manager, walks in. He is wearing a sharp gray suit that looks far too clean for our dusty little diner, and he is holding a thick white envelope. I already know what is inside before he even opens his mouth. My hands start to shake, and I grip the edge of the wooden counter so hard my knuckles turn white.

"Afternoon, Naomi," Mr. Harrison says, his voice sounding flat and cold, like he is reading off a grocery list. He doesn't even look at the red vinyl booths with the peeling seats or the faded photographs of my dad hanging proudly on the wall. He just steps right up to the counter and sets the envelope down.

"Mr. Harrison," I manage to say, keeping my voice as steady as I can. "We are working on the money. My sister Claire and I, we are trying our best—"

"Naomi, we've talked about this three times already," he interrupts, pushing the envelope a little closer to me. "The bank has been very patient. But the final notice came down this morning. You have three weeks. If the full debt isn't paid by then, the bank is taking possession of the property. There's nothing more I can do."

He gives me a quick, almost pitying nod, turns around on his shiny black shoes, and walks right back out into the afternoon sun. The door swings shut behind him with a soft click.

I stand there completely frozen. My breath catches in my throat. Three weeks. Twenty-one days. That is all the time we have left to save the only thing my father left behind for us before he passed away.

"Naomi? Who was that?"

I jump a little and turn around. Claire is standing by the kitchen doors, holding a stack of clean plates against her chest. She is only twenty-two, but lately, the dark circles under her big brown eyes make her look so much older. She looks at the white envelope on the counter, and the color instantly drains from her face.

"Was that... was that the bank again?" Claire whispers, her voice cracking.

I force my lips into what I hope looks like a reassuring smile, even though I feel like I am dying inside. I walk over to her and take the plates out of her hands, setting them down safely on the counter.

"It's okay, Claire. Don't worry about it," I say, trying to sound brave for her. "I'm going to handle it. I'll figure something out tonight."

"How can we figure it out, Naomi?" Claire asks, tears starting to spill over her eyelashes. "We already owe money to the vegetable supplier, the electricity bill is past due, and we don't even have enough to pay ourselves. We are going to lose the restaurant. Dad's restaurant."

"We are not losing anything," I tell her firmly, wrapping my arms around her and holding her tight. But as I say the words, a cold panic spreads through my chest. I have no idea how we are going to get thousands of dollars in three weeks. We don't have savings. We don't have rich relatives. It is just the two of us against the world.

Later that night, after we finally lock up the diner and walk back to our small apartment above it, Claire falls asleep on the sofa from pure exhaustion. The house is completely quiet except for the hum of the old refrigerator in the corner.

I sit at the tiny kitchen table with my laptop glowing in front of me. The screen hurts my eyes in the dark, but I keep scrolling and scrolling. I look up loans, I look up part-time jobs, I even look into selling our old family car. None of it is enough. None of it even comes close.

Just as I am about to close the laptop in defeat, a small banner advertisement pops up in the corner of the screen.

“Exclusive Surrogacy Agency. Life-Changing Compensation for Qualified Candidates. Help a Family While Securing Your Own Future.”

I stare at the words on the screen. My first reaction is to scoff and click the little X to close it. Carrying a baby for strangers? That sounds insane. That is something people only do in movies. I have never even been good at dating, and my last boyfriend made me feel so terrible about my plus-size body before he walked away for someone thinner. The thought of letting anyone medicalize, examine, or judge my body makes my stomach turn inside out.

“You don't have a choice, Naomi,” a quiet voice in the back of my mind whispers.

I look back at the screen. Then I look over at Claire sleeping restlessly on the couch, her face scrunched up with stress even in her sleep. If we lose the restaurant, Claire loses her home, her stability, and any chance of going back to college next semester.

Slowly, my trembling hand moves the mouse. I click on the advertisement.

The website is very clean, very professional, and very intimidating. It talks about strict medical screenings, complete privacy, and an amount of money so large it makes my head spin. It is more than enough to pay off the bank, clear all our debts, and give Claire and me a fresh start.

Before I can talk myself out of it, before my fear takes over completely, I fill out the online application form. My heart is beating so loud I can hear it in my ears.

Two days later, I find myself sitting in a sleek, modern office downtown that smells like expensive perfume and fresh flowers. Everything is painted in soft whites and grays, making me feel completely out of place in my faded jeans and simple cardigan.

A woman named Mrs. Vance, wearing a sharp navy blue blazer and silver-rimmed glasses, sits across from me at a glass desk. She looks through my papers with a calm, professional expression.

"Well, Naomi, your preliminary health check came back, and you are in excellent physical condition," Mrs. Vance says, looking up and giving me a polite smile. "We do have one major requirement that many of our clients insist on. The intended father wishes to remain completely private. There will be no meetings, no sharing of personal lives, and zero romantic expectations. You carry the child, you receive your compensation, and everyone goes their separate ways safely."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. That actually makes things a lot easier. I never wanted to get tangled up in a rich family's personal drama anyway. I just wanted a clean transaction.

"And the compensation?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "Is it... is it really enough to clear a commercial property debt?"

Mrs. Vance slides a printed paper across the desk. When I look at the number written at the bottom, my breath completely catches in my throat. It is life-changing money. It is everything we need to save Dad's restaurant.

"Yes, Miss Ellis," Mrs. Vance says smoothly. "That is the standard contract for our select candidates. Does everything sound acceptable to you?"

I look at the paper, and then I think about Mr. Harrison and his final notice. I think about Claire crying on the couch. This is a huge sacrifice. It is nine months of my life, my body changing, and a lot of emotional unknown. But it is also our only way out.

"Yes," I say, my voice steadying as I pick up the heavy metal pen. "I'll do it."