Chapter 2: The First Harvest
The first pregnancy felt like a surreal dreamscape. I was no longer Melissa; I was a vessel, a high-end biological incubator.
Brian and Lisa, the intended parents, were wonderful. They were the kind of people who sent organic fruit baskets and handwritten notes filled with a level of gratitude that made me feel like a saint. They treated me with a delicate, clinical respect. They were paying for a service, and I was providing it with professional excellence.
Ethan, to his credit, was a model partner during those first nine months. He rubbed my swollen feet every night. He made green smoothies and took over the bedtime stories with Jacob so I could sleep. He kept the narrative alive: We are doing something noble. You are a hero, Mel.
I let myself believe the lie because the lie was comfortable.
When the day finally came, I watched Lisa hold her son—a tiny, red-faced boy named Leo—and I felt a genuine, soaring heat in my chest. I wasn’t losing a child; I was completing a mission. I left the hospital with a check in my hand and a sense of dignity. I had done the hard thing. I had saved my family.
A week later, the mortgage for Marlene was cleared. I watched Ethan hum while he did the dishes, a weight seemingly lifted from his shoulders. For three months, we lived in a state of grace. We weren’t living paycheck to paycheck. We were “free.”
But the debt Marlene had cultivated was a hydra. Cut off one head, and two more grow in its place.
Three months after Leo was born, while I was still feeling the strange, hollow ache of a body trying to find its old shape, Ethan walked into the kitchen. He didn’t have flowers. He had a spreadsheet.
“If we do it one more time, Mel,” he said, sliding the paper across the counter over Jacob’s coloring books. “We can wipe out everything. Mom’s car loan, the credit cards she racked up after Dad died… even the funeral balance. We could actually go on that beach holiday.”
I stared at the numbers. They looked like bars on a cage.
“Ethan, I’m still healing,” I said, my voice trembling. “My hormones haven’t even leveled out. I feel… tired. In my bones.”
“I’m not saying today,” he said, pulling me into his arms, his voice like honey. “Just think about it. One more push, and we are set for life. For my mom’s peace of mind, Mel. She can’t sleep. She’s terrified of losing her car.”
I looked at the ceiling fan spinning overhead. I thought about Marlene’s “peace of mind.” I thought about the beach. I thought about the man I loved.
“Yes,” I said. Again.
