All Chapters of Signed Not Chosen: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

The pen felt heavier than it should’ve.I stared at the dotted line at the bottom of page twelve like it might burn my fingers. My name—Remy Vale—looked wrong there. Too small. Too permanent. Like signing it wouldn’t just end this meeting, but erase the girl I’d been before today. The one who still believed she had a say in what happened to her body.“You gonna sign or what?” My father shifted in the cheap plastic chair, his knee bouncing like he couldn’t sit still. His hands were rough—calloused from years of odd jobs he never held long enough to matter—and his knuckles were split from the bar fight last Tuesday. He smelled like Old Spice and regret, but mostly just sweat and stale beer. He’d shaved this morning, combed his thinning hair, even ironed his shirt. He was trying to look like a responsible man. Like someone who deserved to be here.I didn’t answer. I just folded my hands in my lap—nails bitten down, cuticles raw—and stared at the fake plant in the corner. Plastic leaves,

The clinic called at 6 a.m.I was already on my knees in the back of Lou’s Diner, scrubbing dried egg and coffee grounds out of the grout between the tiles. My hands were red, my lower back ached like I’d been kicked, and my stomach felt strange—not sick, not hungry, just… waiting. Like it knew something my brain hadn’t caught up to yet.“Remy Vale?” A woman’s voice, crisp and cool as stainless steel. “This is Dr. Lin from Sterling Fertility. Your first ultrasound is scheduled for today at 10 a.m. Do not eat or drink anything after 6.”Sterling Fertility. I’d never heard the name before, but it sounded expensive. The kind of place where appointments are whispered, not booked. Where people like me only go when they’re being paid to.“Okay,” I said, voice rough from the bleach fumes. “I’ll be there.”I hung up, wiped my hands on my already-stained jeans, and looked at myself in the cracked mirror above the utility sink. My skin was pale under the fluorescent light, dark smudges under my

I thought I was safe.After wiring my father that $20,000, I told myself it was over. He’d disappear to Vegas, lose it at the tables, maybe sober up long enough to play a few sets, and I’d get six months of quiet. Just me, the babies, and the hum of the mini-fridge in the corner.But money like mine doesn’t vanish quietly. It echoes.Three days later, my bank login stopped working.I was at the library, checking balances like I always did—quick, furtive, like someone might see me and know I had something worth stealing. The screen froze. Then: “Account restricted. Contact your branch.”My stomach dropped.I called the number on the back of my debit card, heart hammering against my ribs. A recorded voice said my account had been “flagged for suspicious activity.” When I finally got a live person, a woman with a bored voice said, “Looks like a large withdrawal was made this morning. $559,000. You’ll need to visit in person to dispute.”I hung up.$559,000. Not all of it. But almost ev

Thirty-two weeks. My body feels like it’s splitting at the seams. Nate’s wedged under my ribs—every kick steals my breath. Leo’s dropped so low I can’t walk without waddling, can’t sleep without peeing every hour. I tie my shoes sitting down now. Sleep sitting up. Even standing still makes my back ache like it’s been kicked. This isn’t just pregnancy. It’s survival. Then today happened. I was mopping the diner floor at noon, sweat dripping down my neck, when I felt it—a warm trickle down my leg. My stomach dropped. Thirty-two weeks. Too early. Way too early. Rosa saw my face go pale. She didn’t ask questions. Just shoved a towel at me and said, “Go. I’ll cover.” I walked to the bus stop in soaked pants, heart slamming against my ribs. I didn’t go to the Sterling clinic. Never again. I took the bus downtown to County General—the public hospital where no one knows my name. The nurse took one look and frowned. “You’re leaking fluid. At thirty-two weeks. With twins.” “I’m

Thirty-four weeks.And they know I stole from them.I felt it the moment I stepped outside this morning. The air was too still. The street too quiet. Even the pigeons seemed to be watching. I kept my head down, walked fast, hand resting low on my belly where Leo’s been quiet all night. Nate kicked once—sharp, warning—but that was it. Like even they know something’s coming.At the bus stop, I saw it: a new camera mounted above the laundromat across the street. Not there yesterday. I didn’t flinch. Didn’t pause. Just boarded the bus and took a seat facing backward so I could watch them watch me.Two stops later, a man in a gray jacket got on. Sat three rows behind me. Didn’t read. Didn’t look at his phone. Just stared out the window like he was memorizing the route. I got off early. Walked three blocks out of my way. Turned down an alley. Waited behind a dumpster. He followed. I didn’t run. Didn’t panic. I walked straight up to him. “You lost?” I asked, voice steady. He blinked. “Just h