Two weeks after that video call, I sat in the pristine waiting room of the surrogacy agency, my hands damp against the leather folder containing my medical records.
Stefan had agreed to move forward—somehow, impossibly, he'd agreed.
I still wasn't entirely sure how it happened, only that there had been emails, phone calls with the agency, background checks, and now here I was, about to sign my body away for nine months.
The receptionist smiled at me with practiced warmth. "Can I get you anything while you wait? Water? Coffee?"
"I'm fine, thank you." I picked up a magazine about pregnancy wellness, pretending to read while the words blurred together.
My leg bounced nervously. Every time the door opened, my heart seized.
At exactly 2:00 PM, Stefan walked in. He was professional in a charcoal suit, every inch the successful businessman.
When he saw me, he offered a tight nod that managed to be both acknowledgement and warning: we're really doing this, but we're keeping boundaries.
"Lila." He took the seat beside me, leaving a careful distance between us.
"Mr. Hale."
His phone buzzed before I could respond. He glanced at the screen, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. A counselor emerged from the back—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a clipboard. "Mr. and Mrs. Hale?"
"Eleanor sends her apologies," Stefan said smoothly, standing. "Emergency board meeting. She won't be able to join us today."
The lie sat between us. We both knew Eleanor's priorities. The counselor didn't react, just smiled professionally.
"That's perfectly fine. We can proceed with just the two of you. Right this way."
She led us to a conference room where contracts were spread across a mahogany table. The stack of papers looked impossibly thick, each page representing another piece of my autonomy I was signing away.
"Let's begin with the compensation structure," the counselor said, settling into her chair.
"The base fee is seventy-five thousand dollars, paid in installments throughout the pregnancy. You'll also receive a monthly allowance of five hundred dollars for incidentals, plus a thousand dollars for maternity clothing. All medical expenses are covered completely—doctor visits, hospital stays, any complications that may arise."
I nodded, trying to absorb the numbers. Seventy-five thousand dollars. Enough to wipe out most of my debt. Enough to breathe.
"Now, let's discuss the medical procedures."
The counselor flipped to a new section.
"You'll begin hormone injections approximately two weeks before the embryo transfer. These prepare your uterine lining for implantation. The transfer itself is minimally invasive—similar to a pap smear. After that, you'll have monitoring appointments every two weeks for the first trimester, then monthly until delivery."
"And the injections," Stefan spoke up, his first words since we'd sat down. "What are the side effects? I want to make sure Lila knows exactly what she's agreeing to."
The counselor glanced between us. "Common side effects include bloating, mood swings, headaches, and fatigue. Some women experience more significant discomfort. It varies."
"Lila, are you comfortable with that?" Stefan asked, still not quite meeting my eyes.
"Yes," I said. "I've researched it. I know what to expect."
We continued through the contract page by page—liability waivers, confidentiality agreements, termination clauses, custody arrangements.
Stefan asked careful, respectful questions about each section, always framing them around my comfort, my health, my rights. The counselor seemed impressed by his thoroughness.
I signed where indicated, my signature getting shakier with each page.
This was real. I was agreeing to carry Stefan's child. Harper's stepfather's child. The pen felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.
"And this final page confirms the match," the counselor said, sliding the last document toward me. "Once you both sign, you're officially moving forward."
I stared at the signature line. My hand trembled. Stefan's voice was soft. "Lila, if you're having second thoughts…"
"I'm not." I signed before I could talk myself out of it, then pushed the paper toward him.
He held my gaze for a moment, searching for something, doubt maybe, or regret, then signed his own name in clean, decisive strokes.
"Congratulations," the counselor said, gathering the papers. "You're officially matched. We'll schedule the medical screening for next week."
Outside the building, the late afternoon sun felt too bright. I squinted against it, clutching my copy of the contract like a lifeline. Stefan stood beside me, hands in his pockets, neither of us sure what to say.
I forced a nervous smile, needing to break the suffocating tension. "This is... kind of the start of something huge, right?"
Stefan's expression softened slightly. "It is."
The silence stretched. I scrambled for something to fill it, and before I could stop myself, I blurted: "There's a bar next door. Should we, like, celebrate? I probably won't be allowed to drink for nine months, at least."
I immediately regretted it—too casual, too intimate for what this was supposed to be. Stefan hesitated, clearly wrestling with propriety. Then, quietly: "One drink. To the future."
***
The bar was dim and nearly empty at 4 PM, all dark wood and low lighting. I ordered wine; Stefan got a beer he barely touched. One glass became two for me as nervous energy transformed into rambling.
"It's just so surreal, you know?" I said, tracing the rim of my glass.
"Like, a month ago I was eating ramen for the third night in a row, checking my bank account every five minutes, convinced I'd have to drop out of school. And now I'm going to be... pregnant. With your baby. Well, not your baby, but—you know what I mean."
"I know what you mean." Stefan watched me with that focused attention that always undid me.
"I'm scared," I admitted, the wine loosening my tongue. "What if I mess this up? What if something goes wrong? What if Harper finds out and hates me forever?"
"You won't mess this up." His voice was steady, reassuring. "You're one of the bravest people I know, Lila. What you're doing—it's not easy. I'm grateful. More than you know."
The wine hit harder than expected—I hadn't eaten since breakfast, too nervous. When I stood to leave, I swayed slightly, gripping the edge of the table.
"I should walk you home," Stefan said immediately, rising.
"I'm fine, I just…"
"I'm walking you home."
The five-block walk felt both endless and too short. We didn't talk much, just walked side by side through the early evening, the silence comfortable in a way that scared me.
Outside my apartment door, I fumbled for my keys, dropping them twice before managing to fit the right one in the lock. I turned to thank Stefan and made the mistake of looking up.
He was closer than expected, streetlight casting shadows across his concerned face.
Wine made him even more handsome in my eyes. Stefan’s hair tousled by the wind, his eyes sparkling in the light of the evening lanterns, a slight blush on his cheeks…
Maybe alcohol made me brave and stupid in equal measure, and I can’t believe I’m actually considering doing it, but… What if this is the first and last time we seem like something more than just Harper's friend and stepdad?
I rose on my toes and kissed him—in a hurry, without a second thought, afraid to change my mind and do something inappropriate at the same time.
Stefan's lips, slightly parted, were as soft to the touch as they appeared to be.
He froze. For one heart-stopping second, he didn't move at all. Then his hands came up to my shoulders, gently but firmly pushing me back.
"We're not talking about this." His voice was low, controlled, but I heard the tremor underneath. "Ever."
He waited until I was inside, then walked away without looking back.
Later, face buried in my pillow, mascara smearing on the pillowcase, I groaned to my empty apartment: "I am such a dumb idiot."