Terms and Conditions
1126 Words
The contract smelled like fresh ink and expensive paper.
Avery noticed that first, absurdly, as she sat in the leather chair and stared down at the stack of documents placed neatly in front of her. Fourteen pages, single-spaced, clipped together with a thin silver fastener. It looked heavier than paper should, as if the words themselves carried weight.
Julian Cole sat across from her, hands folded, posture immaculate. He hadn’t removed his jacket. He hadn’t checked his phone. He hadn’t looked away since the lawyer began explaining the terms.
“This agreement,” the attorney said, tapping the first page, “establishes Ms. Monroe as the gestational carrier. Mr. Cole will be listed as the sole legal parent upon birth.”
Avery nodded, though her eyes were already scanning the text.
Gestational carrier.
Not mother. Not woman. Not person.
Carrier.
“You will receive compensation in scheduled installments,” the attorney continued. “Medical expenses will be fully covered. Counseling is mandatory. Confidentiality is absolute.”
Absolute.
Avery glanced up. Julian was watching her—not intrusively, but intently, as if gauging how much pressure she could withstand before cracking.
“What happens if something goes wrong?” Avery asked.
The attorney paused. “Define ‘wrong.’”
“If I change my mind.”
Julian answered before the attorney could. “That won’t happen.”
Avery’s eyes snapped to his.
“You don’t know that,” she said evenly.
“I’ve chosen carefully,” Julian replied. His voice was calm, but there was steel beneath it. “I don’t make decisions without certainty.”
Avery leaned back slightly. “I’m not a stock option.”
Something flickered across his face—surprise, maybe even amusement—but it was gone as quickly as it appeared.
“The contract accounts for contingencies,” the attorney said smoothly, trying to regain control of the room. “Termination clauses, medical emergencies, breaches.”
Avery returned her gaze to the page, but Julian’s words lingered.
I don’t make decisions without certainty.
She wondered what kind of man believed certainty could be purchased.
---
Two hours later, Avery stepped out onto the sidewalk, blinking as the afternoon sun hit her eyes. Midtown buzzed around her—horns blaring, people rushing, life continuing at a pace that felt almost cruel in its normalcy.
She stood there for a moment, contract folder tucked under her arm, feeling unmoored.
She hadn’t signed yet.
That fact felt important.
Her phone rang as she descended into the subway. Linda.
“Hey,” Avery said, pressing the phone to her ear as she found a seat.
“You met them,” her mother said. It wasn’t a question.
Avery sighed. “I did.”
“And?”
“And it’s real,” Avery said quietly. “Very real.”
There was a pause on the line. “Do you want to do this?”
Avery closed her eyes as the train lurched forward. “I don’t know if want matters.”
“It always matters,” Linda said. “Even when we ignore it.”
Avery swallowed. “He’s not a bad man.”
“That’s not the same as a good situation.”
“No,” Avery agreed. “But it might save you.”
Silence stretched between them, heavy and uncomfortable.
Finally, Linda said, “I didn’t raise you to sacrifice yourself.”
“You raised me to survive,” Avery replied softly.
---
That night, Avery spread the contract across her kitchen table. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the distant sounds of traffic outside. She read every clause again, slower this time.
No contact after birth.
No claims of parental rights.
No interference.
Her chest tightened with each line.
She tried to imagine the baby as an abstract concept, the way the contract did. The resulting child. It didn’t work. Her mind insisted on tiny fingers, a heartbeat, weight in her arms.
She pushed the thought away.
At midnight, she signed.
Her signature looked unfamiliar, as if it belonged to someone braver—or more reckless—than she felt.
---
The fertility clinic was quieter than the agency office, its calm almost deceptive. Soft lighting. Neutral colors. Everything designed to soothe.
Dr. Hannah Reeves greeted Avery with a warm handshake and a sympathetic smile. “I know this can feel overwhelming.”
“That’s one word for it,” Avery replied.
Julian arrived moments later. He nodded to the doctor, then to Avery.
“Ms. Monroe.”
“Mr. Cole.”
Their exchanges were formal, measured. Boundaries already in place.
The procedure itself was brief and clinical. Avery focused on her breathing, on the ceiling tiles, on anything but the knowledge that something irrevocable was happening inside her body.
When it was over, the nurse smiled brightly. “All done.”
Julian stood near the door, hands in his pockets. “Thank you,” he said.
Avery turned her head slightly. “You’re welcome.”
The words felt strange. Too small for what she’d just done.
---
The days that followed passed in a blur of appointments, injections, and carefully scheduled check-ins. Julian’s assistant coordinated everything with military precision. Avery complied.
She told herself it was just biology.
She told herself she was still in control.
Then came the first ultrasound.
The room was dim, the screen glowing softly. Avery lay on the table, heart pounding, as the technician adjusted the monitor.
“There,” she said, pointing.
A flicker.
A sound.
A heartbeat.
Avery’s breath caught painfully in her chest.
Julian stepped closer without realizing it. His reflection appeared faintly in the screen, his face unreadable as he stared at the tiny pulsing dot.
“That’s…” His voice trailed off.
“Healthy,” the technician said cheerfully. “Very strong.”
Julian nodded once, sharply, as if grounding himself.
Avery turned her head away, blinking rapidly.
Do not attach, she told herself.
The contract didn’t forbid tears—but it should have.
---
Later, as they walked out together, Julian broke the silence.
“You did well,” he said.
Avery stopped walking. “I didn’t run a marathon.”
“I know,” he replied. “I meant… thank you.”
She studied him for a moment. Up close, she noticed the faint lines around his eyes, the weariness he kept carefully contained.
“You’re welcome,” she said again.
This time, the words felt heavier.
As they parted ways on the sidewalk, Avery realized something unsettling.
She had expected Julian Cole to feel like an employer.
Instead, he felt like someone she was slowly, dangerously getting to know.
And that was the one thing the contract could not protect them from.
- Writer
