Falling for the wrong memory

Blyth’s POV

I don’t remember anything about my past. Sometimes, it flashes in my memories, like shards from a memory buried under dirt. It presses against my brain, as if fighting its way out. But each time it starts, I feel so much pain that I shut down.

Last night, when I returned from the hospital with Mateo, the dreams started again.

This time, I was falling down a flight of stairs. The color of the tiles came into view, but I was too focused on trying to save myself to notice anything else. I heard my breath catch in my throat as I landed through space.

Suddenly, I was sprawled on the floor. I could hear someone calling a name, but it sounded too far away. And the next minute, I was under water. It was hard to breathe. It scratched my throat so much that I screamed out of my sleep.

And when I jolted out of bed, there was no one else in my tiny room with me. My sheets were soaked with sweat, and my heart was racing erratically. It was just a dream, yet it lived deep inside my bones, refusing to budge no matter how hard I tried to shake it off.

Now, standing in the lobby of Brent Empire Private Hospital, I cannot shake off the sight in my head when the stairway comes into view. I watch the kids walk on it with reckless abandon, their mothers pulling them behind.

I grip the folder I only picked up this morning tightly against my chest.

“The elevator is out,” the nurse at the desk announces to the growing queue waiting in front of its doors. “Take the stairs if you can walk. If you are using a wheelchair, wait out here until it is back running.”

And then, her eyes find mine. Mateo must have informed them of my arrival. "Dr. Smith is on the third floor.”

The crowd disperses around me, but I stay rooted to the spot. "There's no other way?"

“Just the stairs,” she replies politely. “But it’s only a few flights.”

She’s right, only that it feels like death is waiting for me on each step.

"I'll wait," I murmur, conscious of her eyes following me to the line of seats. I watch her pick up the telephone beside her. She whispers into it for only a few seconds, but in the next minute, my phone is ringing from my pocket.

"Blythe Brown," I answer in my chirpy tone, about telling whoever it is that I no longer dance at the club and that I no longer offer personal dance services, too.

But when I hear his voice, my whole body stiffens.

“Why are you waiting in the lobby?”

“I …. “ I look up at the nurse, finally understanding what that phone call was about. “I…”

“Blythe, you know how serious this is, don’t you? Your appointment with Dr. Smith should have been on already. She has other things to do rather than babysit you.”

That stings. He seems to be angry about something, but I can’t tell what it is. It definitely can’t be because I refused to use the stairs.

“The elevator broke.”

“Did the stairs break too?”

I can't tell Mateo about my dreams or my fear of using the stairs. It won't be strange for him to write it under a psychological defect and stop me from going ahead with the contract.

I need the money, and I am not letting this come in the way of what I stand to gain from being his surrogate.

"I feel tired," I sigh, feigning a yawn. "In the contract, you wanted me to take care of myself, and right now, the stairs will do the opposite. I have already contacted Dr. Smith, and she said it's okay to wait."

I don’t have Dr. Smith's number, and neither have I contacted her, but that seems to work as Mateo mutters something before ending the call.

The elevator doesn't get running until after one hour, but I prefer waiting to facing the stairs.

I heave a sigh of relief when I walk in through the doors, the familiar hum whirring until it dings open. Locating her office isn’t hard since I have been here before.

“You’re late,” are the first words that greet me as I step in. She pushes up her glasses and regards me.

“Sorry.” I sigh, hoping that she doesn’t ask any more questions.

Her eyes look like they’ll do just that, but after another glance, she lets it be, flipping through a much lighter file than the one I am currently holding.

"Apart from me, you would be seeing a dietician, therapist, physical trainer, fertility nurse, and a psychiatrist."

“Isn’t that too much?”

“Mr. Brent wants the best for his baby, and we are going to give him that.”

I nod.

"I also need to remind you, just in case he failed to do that, that this agreement is highly confidential. Under no circumstances must you discuss it with anyone else. Are we clear?"

I nod again.

“Perfect!” Dr. Smith rubs her palms together, visible excitement coursing through her. It makes me wonder what the story is. Has Mateo been trying for a child for so long? Why did he not just pick one out of the women lining his doorstep every day?

And more importantly, why does he need a child?

"You will be monitored regularly by the team. Your body fat will be regulated, along with your hormone levels, sleep cycle, and your s****l health."

I don’t understand how I agreed to this.

“Is he always this controlling?”

She regards me over the rim of her glasses. "Mr. Brent likes to be thorough. How do you think he amassed all this wealth? Besides, fertility cases like this one usually come with rules."

And then, she smiles. “His just happens to be longer than the regular.”

She starts scribbling on the same file, and then stops, looking up.

“What happened to your baby?”

My head shifts back in surprise. “What baby?”

“Haven’t you been pregnant before?”