[POV Stefan]
I arrived at the fertility clinic's parking lot fifteen minutes early, watching for Lila through my rearview mirror.
She'd texted that she was taking the bus—I should have offered to pick her up, but maintaining boundaries had seemed important then. Professional distance. Appropriate behavior. All the things I kept telling myself mattered.
Now, watching her walk across the lot in a sundress that was too light for the weather, hugging herself against the wind, those boundaries felt cruel.
She spotted my car and gave a small wave, her smile nervous. I got out to meet her, resisting the urge to offer my jacket.
"You didn't have to wait outside," she said, teeth chattering slightly.
"I wanted to make sure you found it okay."
"Stefan, it's a giant building with a sign that says 'Fertility Center.' I wasn't going to get lost."
Despite the tension between us, I almost smiled. "Let's get inside. You're freezing."
The waiting room was aggressively cheerful—pastel walls, framed baby photos everywhere, hopeful testimonials mounted on poster boards.
"The Smith family welcomed twins thanks to our wonderful team!"
"After years of trying, we finally have our miracle baby!"
Every surface screamed optimism in a way that felt almost desperate.
Lila filled out forms while I pretended to check emails on my phone. Around us, other couples waited together—women leaning on their husbands' shoulders, hands intertwined, sharing nervous smiles.
A pregnant woman rubbed her belly while her partner whispered something that made her laugh.
I looked away.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hale?" the receptionist called, smiling at us.
Lila's correction came quickly, too quickly. "Ms. Hart. I'm the surrogate."
The receptionist's smile faltered for just a moment before recovering. "Of course. Right this way."
The correction stung more than it should have.
The examination room was cold, clinical. White walls, fluorescent lights, medical equipment that looked intimidating even to me. Lila sat on the exam table in a paper gown, looking impossibly young and vulnerable.
The doctor, a brisk woman in her fifties, explained the screening process while barely looking up from her clipboard.
"We'll start with blood work, then the ultrasound. After that, you'll schedule your psychological evaluation for next week."
"And if everything looks good?" Lila asked.
"Then we proceed with the hormone injections to prepare your uterine lining. The embryo transfer would be scheduled approximately two weeks after that."
Lila nodded along, but I saw her hands trembling when the nurse entered with a tray of needles for the blood draws. She was trying to be brave, professional, but her knuckles were white where she gripped the edge of the exam table.
"The transvaginal ultrasound will give us a clear picture of your reproductive health," the doctor continued, still focused on her notes. "It's a standard procedure."
Lila's face paled. "Is it... does it hurt?"
"Some discomfort," the doctor said, distracted by charts. "Nothing significant."
I wanted to say something reassuring, but what could I offer? This wasn't my body, my discomfort, my vulnerability on display.
When the procedure started, Lila went rigid on the examination table. Her jaw clenched, her breathing shallow. The doctor and nurse moved efficiently, clinically, discussing measurements and observations like Lila wasn't even there.
Then her hand shot out, grabbing mine without thinking.
I should have pulled away. Maintained professional distance. Instead, I squeezed gently, my thumb stroking across her knuckles.
"You're okay," I murmured, low enough that only she could hear. "Nothing bad is happening. Just breathe. I'm right here."
She focused on my face instead of the ceiling, her grip tight enough to hurt. Her eyes were glassy, whether from discomfort or something else, I couldn't tell. But she held on, and I didn't let go.
Not until it was over. Not until she released me first, embarrassed.
"Sorry," she whispered, pulling her hand back like she'd been burned.
"Don't be."
The drive to her apartment was quiet. She fidgeted with the radio, changing stations every few seconds without settling on anything. Finally, she turned it off entirely.
"Thank you," she said, staring out the window. "For being there. I know Eleanor was supposed to…"
"Eleanor had a conference call." The excuse sounded hollow even to me.
Lila nodded, not pressing. She knew better than anyone how often Eleanor's conference calls materialized at convenient moments.
At her building, she paused before getting out, one hand on the door handle. "Stefan? This is getting real now. The medications start next week, and then..."
"I know."
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw everything she wasn't saying. The fear. The uncertainty. The same tangled feelings I was desperately trying to ignore.
I wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her she was brave, that I was grateful.
But she was already gone, hurrying into her building without looking back.
At home, I found Eleanor in her office—a miracle in itself. She was typing furiously, phone wedged between her ear and shoulder, but she ended the call when I appeared in the doorway.
"You're home early." She glanced at the clock. "I thought the appointment would take longer."
"We finished up. Everything looks good." I stepped into the room, closing the door behind me. "There's something I need to tell you. About the surrogate."
Eleanor barely glanced up, returning to her keyboard. "The agency handled the screening, I assume? Everything's in order?"
"It's Lila. Harper's friend."
Her fingers paused on the keyboard. She turned slowly, eyebrows raised with what looked like mild curiosity. "Lila? The young one who's always here? Interesting choice."
"She met all the criteria. Medical background, healthy, needed the financial help…"
"Of course." Eleanor leaned back in her chair, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read. "How old is she again? Twenty-two? Twenty-one?" Her tone was conversational, almost casual. "That's quite young for such a commitment."
"The agency approved her. She passed all the psychological evaluations."
"I'm sure she did." Eleanor tapped her manicured nails on the desk thoughtfully. "And she's fully committed? Understands everything involved? The hormones, the procedures, the emotional toll?"
I shifted slightly, uncomfortable under her scrutiny. "She's been very professional about everything."
"Has she?" Eleanor's smile was subtle, concerned. "So she's agreed to all the stages? Made this decision final? Signed everything?"
"Yes. We did the medical screening today. The implantation is scheduled for tomorrow."
Eleanor nodded slowly, as if processing this information. "Tomorrow. That's fast."
She paused, her voice taking on a gentle, almost sympathetic quality.
"You know how young women can be, Stefan. Very enthusiastic at first, then... well, they can be unstable at that age. All those emotions, the pressure. What if she changes her mind? Tomorrow, or worse, halfway through?"
"She won't."
"You sound very certain." Eleanor's eyes were sharp despite her soft tone. "Has she ever committed to something this significant before? Nine months is a long time for someone barely out of college. And Harper's friend... imagine if something goes wrong. The awkwardness. The impact on Harper."
I felt a flicker of doubt I hadn't expected. Eleanor had a way of doing this—planting seeds that burrowed deep and took root.
"Lila knows what she's doing."
"I hope so." Eleanor returned to her typing, adding casually, "For everyone's sake. Especially yours. You wants this baby so desperately. I'd hate to see you disappointed if she decides she can't handle it after all. Young girls often don't know their own minds."
I stood there, her words settling like stones in my chest.
"She's committed," I said, but even I could hear how it sounded less convinced than before.
Eleanor's smile was barely visible, her eyes fixed on her screen. "We'll see, won't we?"