Chapter 5 Five

• The clinic room is colder than it should be. I lie on the examination table, paper crinkling beneath me as I shift uncomfortably. The silk gown they gave me offers little warmth, and goosebumps rise on my arms.
• I've been here for twenty minutes already, waiting for Dr. Whitman to begin the implantation procedure. A week of hormone injections and constant examinations has left me bloated and emotional, my body no longer feeling like my own.
• But I remind myself of the money, of the fresh start waiting for me after these nine months are over.
• One week in Dante's guest house has been strange. The place is beautiful, all modern furniture and expensive art, but it feels empty. Clinical. Like a fancy hotel room rather than a home.
• The staff brings me meals on a schedule. A nurse comes twice daily for my hormone injections. I barely see anyone else.
• The door opens, and Dr. Whitman walks in, her face as expressionless as ever.
• "Ms. Thompson. How are you feeling today?"
• "Nervous," I admit.
• She nods, typing something on her tablet. "That's normal. The procedure itself is relatively quick and painless."
• A nurse enters behind her, arranging instruments on a tray.
• "I'll explain what's going to happen," Dr. Whitman says. "We'll use an ultrasound to guide the catheter through your cervix into your uterus. Then we'll release the fertilized eggs."
• "Eggs?" I ask. "Multiple?"
• "Yes. We'll implant three embryos to increase the chances of successful pregnancy."
• I swallow hard. "Three babies?"
• "It's unlikely all three will develop. But it improves our chances of at least one viable pregnancy."
• I nod slowly. I hadn't thought about multiples. Just one more thing no one bothered to explain to me.
• Dr. Whitman continues reviewing the procedure, her voice flat and technical. I try to focus on her words, but anxiety swirls in my stomach.
• "The donor eggs were of excellent quality," she says casually. "Grade A. And Mr. Romano's sperm count was exceptional."
• I freeze. "Donor eggs?"
• Dr. Whitman looks up from her tablet, frowning slightly. "Yes. The eggs were harvested from an anonymous donor. Didn't Mr. Romano discuss this with you?"
• My heart pounds against my ribs. "No. He didn't."
• "I see." Her tone doesn't change. "Well, the donor was carefully selected for optimum genetic compatibility. The resulting embryos are very promising."
• The room seems to tilt. I grip the edges of the examination table. I will not be using my own eggs. I will not be genetically related to this baby. It seems they don't trust my genetic background after all.
• I'm just... a vessel. Exactly what Dante called me.
• "Ms. Thompson? Are you alright?" Dr. Whitman is staring at me.
• "I thought..." My voice sounds distant to my own ears. "I thought we were using my eggs."
• "That was never the plan. It's all in the contract."
• Is it? Did I miss that part? Or was it buried in the legal language I didn't understand?
• The door opens again. Dante Romano walks in, impeccably dressed in a charcoal suit. His eyes move from me to Dr. Whitman.
• "Is there a problem?"
• "Ms. Thompson was unaware we're using donor eggs," Dr. Whitman explains.
• Dante's expression doesn't change. "It's clearly stated in section twelve of the contract."
• "You could have told me directly," I say, anger rising in my chest. "You knew I didn't understand all the legal terms."
• "This is necessary," he says coldly. "Do not overthink it."
• "Don't overthink it? You're putting someone else's eggs into my body!"
• "You're carrying my child. The genetics are irrelevant to your role."
• His dismissal stings me more than his deception. I want to get up, walk out, tell him I'm done. But the first payment has already been spent. The debts on the apartment have been paid with that money. If I leave, I'll be in debt again, this time to him, and no job awaits me.
• I'm trapped.
• Dante steps closer to me, his blue eyes intense. "This changes nothing about our arrangement."
• "It changes everything," I whisper.
• "Ms. Thompson," Dr. Whitman interrupts. "We need to proceed. The embryos are ready."
• I look from her to Dante. He's watching me with an unreadable expression, but for a split second, I see something flash across his face. Something that looks almost like... triumph. Like this is exactly what he wanted.
• "Are you refusing to continue?" Dante asks quietly. The threat beneath his words is clear.
• I close my eyes briefly. What choice do I have? None. Just like always.
• "No," I say finally. "I'll continue."
• "Excellent." Dr. Whitman gestures to the nurse. "Let's begin."
• I lie back, staring at the ceiling as they position my legs in the stirrups. The ultrasound screen shows shadowy shapes I don't understand. The procedure itself is uncomfortable but not painful, a pressure, a strange sensation of intrusion.
• "The embryos are placed," Dr. Whitman announces after several minutes. "You can rest now."
• I remain still, afraid to move. Inside me are three tiny clusters of cells that might become babies. Babies that aren't mine. Babies I'll grow and birth and then hand over to Dante Romano.
• "You'll need to lie here for about an hour," Dr. Whitman says. "Then we'll take you back to the residence. Bed rest for forty-eight hours."
• She leaves with the nurse, and I'm alone with Dante. He stands near the door, watching me.
• "You should have told me," I say quietly.
• "It wasn't relevant."
• "Not relevant? It's my body."
• "Which you agreed to provide as a service." His voice is calm, reasonable, making me feel irrational for being upset.
• "I didn't know what I was agreeing to."
• "You should have read the contract more carefully."
• I turn my head away from him, tears stinging my eyes. I won't let him see me cry.
• "In two weeks, we'll know if the implantation was successful," he says after a moment. "You'll receive the best care possible."
• "How kind of you," I mutter.
• He steps closer, and I feel the weight of his presence. "This arrangement benefits us both, Ms. Thompson. Don't forget that."
• When I look back, his expression has softened slightly.
• "Rest now," he says. "I'll have the car ready when you're cleared to leave."
• He turns and walks out, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the potential lives now growing inside me. Lives that aren't mine, will never be mine. Just borrowed time in a borrowed womb.
• I place my hand on my still-flat stomach. I feel betrayed, used. But what did I expect? This was always a transaction. I just didn't realize how little my own self would matter in the equation.