His Unexpected Forever

Chapter Three: The Price Of A Promise

Zara’s POV:

I watched Amelia from the doorway, her back turned as she crouched over her duffel bag, folding and refolding the same jumper for the third time. The late afternoon sun streamed in through the window, catching the soft brown of her curls. Her music played low in the background—some upbeat indie track she’d been obsessed with lately—but I barely heard it.

All I could hear was the ticking of time. She would be gone in two days.

She was going to fashion school. My baby sister. A dream we’d whispered about in the dark, back when we were sleeping on the floor of a group shelter in South London, holding each other through the noise, pretending not to hear the woman crying in the bunk above.

Back then, Amelia was tiny and quiet, always clinging to my arm. I was only fifteen, but I’d promised her the world. And now, somehow, we were here. Not in a mansion. Not in anything fancy. Just a cramped flat on the third floor of a building that constantly smelled like fried onions and pipe rust—but she was going. She had a future.

And I was going to make sure she held onto it—even if it meant giving up my own.

I rubbed the space between my brows and walked to the window, pushing it open for air. The street below was as familiar as the inside of our cupboard: corner shop on the left, Mrs. Lande’s flower pots wilting on the right, one broken streetlight that never quite got fixed. A boy on a scooter zipped past, shouting after his mate.

Behind me, Amelia sighed.

“Do you think they’ll like me?”

I turned. She was sitting on the edge of the bed now, legs crossed, a pillow hugged to her chest. Her voice was soft, hesitant.

“They’re going to love you,” I said, without missing a beat. “They’d be idiots not to.”

She smiled, though I could see the nerves in her eyes. I crossed over and sank beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“You’re talented, you’re smart, and you’ve worked your arse off for this.”

“I wouldn’t be going if it weren’t for you.”

I tensed.

She didn’t know. She didn’t know how much it had cost—was still going to cost. To her, I’d just taken on a few extra shifts at the café, maybe sold some old clothes, maybe borrowed a bit from some mythical emergency fund. She didn’t know about the agency, the interview, the sterile room, the couple whose faces I hadn’t even seen. She didn’t know about the contract I hadn’t signed yet, the one that promised to pay enough for tuition, housing, and meals—if I agreed to carry their child.

She couldn’t know. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

There was a knock on the door. Amelia jumped up to answer before I could move.

It was Ollie.

He stepped in with a small bag of groceries and his usual worried expression. “Got you the snacks you asked for,” he said, holding the bag out to Amelia.

“Legend,” she grinned, grabbing it. “I owe you tea when I come back.”

He smiled faintly, then glanced at me. The smile faded.

I knew that look. He wanted to talk. He always did, when something sat heavy on my chest—like he could feel it too.

“Zara,” he said gently, once Amelia disappeared into the kitchen, rustling packets, “have you… have you decided?”

I looked away. My jaw tightened.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not a small thing. You know that, right?”

“I’m aware,” I said, sharper than I meant to.

Ollie said nothing for a second. Then he stepped closer.

“She doesn’t know, does she?”

I shook my head.

“And you’re okay with carrying this alone?”

“Do I have a choice?”

There was a pause.

“You always have a choice.”

I turned to face him. “No, I don’t, Ollie. Not really. I’ve made every choice since I was fifteen. When Mum and Dad died, no one stepped in to help us. No aunties. No uncles. No bloody system. Just me—fifteen years old, trying to get Amelia through school while I cleaned people’s toilets after hours.”

His face softened. “I know.”

“You don’t,” I snapped, voice cracking. “You don’t know what it’s like to lie awake at night and wonder how you’re going to feed your sister. You don’t know what it’s like to tell her everything’s fine while you haven’t eaten in two days. You don’t know what it’s like to get a scholarship letter and throw it away because she needed you more than the university ever would.”

Ollie didn’t reply. He just stepped forward and placed a gentle hand on my arm.

“I didn’t mean to push.”

I exhaled shakily. “I know. I just…”

I looked over at Amelia, who was now sitting at the table, doodling designs in her sketchbook with her headphones on, humming quietly. Oblivious. Safe. Still dreaming.

I wanted her to stay that way.

“I want her to have a chance,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “She deserves one.”

“And you?” Ollie asked.

I smiled bitterly. “Maybe I’ve had mine.”

He shook his head. “Don’t say that.”

I shrugged. “It’s not like I’ve got anyone waiting for me. No job that’s changing the world. No love life. No family beyond her. I’m twenty-five and I still live in the same flat I moved into when I was nineteen.”

Ollie looked like he wanted to argue, but he didn’t. Because he knew—deep down—I wasn’t wrong.

The surrogacy would pay well. It would solve everything in one go. Amelia’s tuition, her accommodation, even her materials. I could get a better flat. Maybe even finally study again. Do something for myself, after all this time.

But at what cost?

Would I really be okay carrying a child, feeling it grow inside me, knowing it wasn’t mine—knowing I’d have to give it away?

Would my body ever be mine again after that?

Would my heart?

“I haven’t decided,” I said again, more quietly this time.

He gave a single nod. “Whatever you choose… I’ll be here.”

I met his eyes then. There was something quiet in them—loyalty, affection, maybe something more. But we’d never gone there, Ollie and I. We’d been friends since we were both scrawny teens volunteering at the food bank. He knew my history. He respected my silence. And maybe that was all I needed from him right now.

“Thanks,” I said.

Just then, Amelia burst out laughing at something in her book, holding up a sketch of a gown made entirely of safety pins and sarcasm.

“I’m calling this one ‘Detention Chic,’” she said proudly.

Ollie chuckled. I smiled.

She looked so happy. So full of life.

I would do anything to protect that.

Even carry a child that wasn’t mine.

Even break a part of myself to keep her whole.

I turned to the window again and whispered into the setting sun:

Maybe I’ll say yes.