Secret Surrogate For My Boss

The Last Straw

Emma

I’d been home for weeks now; cleaning, cooking, pretending to be fine, and scrolling through job vacancies that never seemed to lead anywhere. Nothing. Not a single call back.

“I seriously don’t get it,” Annie said one night as she lay on her bed, staring at me like I’d grown two heads. “You left your cozy apartment, your car, your job, and that fine boss of yours… and came back here to share this hot room with me. For what reason? Do you actually enjoy suffering?”

I ignored her and kept scrolling through i********:, my thumb moving but my mind numb. I didn’t have the strength to match my sister’s sharp mouth.

“When I visited you, I envied you,” she added, her tone sharper. “I would give anything to be in your shoes at that time.”

“Those are just material things, Annie,” I muttered eventually. “Dad and Mom taught us not to be materialistic. What does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul?”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, stood up, and walked into the bathroom without saying another word.

As soon as the door closed, a heavy silence settled over me. I sounded dull and dumb even to myself. Hypocritical. I should have thought of all that moral teachings before I let Lucas touch me. Before I sold myself piece by piece for comfort, for attention and for a taste of a life that was never mine to begin with.

I made myself available to him at any hour and in any place. I gave him everything… and lost myself in the process.

Now I was back in my childhood room with peeling paint, a noisy fan, and my loud sister, and I couldn’t even cry properly. I felt horrible. Ashamed. Like my chest was filled with stones.

And the worst part? I still hadn’t given myself the space to break down. I’d been holding myself together so tightly, I didn’t know how to fall apart anymore.

***

I woke up to a room flooded with sunlight for the third day in a row. My heart jumped. I have been sleeping too much these days. I got out of bed quickly and rushed into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and splashing cold water on my face. Annie was already gone to school. I wondered why she didn’t wake me.

“Good morning, Ma,” I greeted as I stepped into the kitchen. She was almost done with breakfast.

She looked up at me, studied me for a while before she frowned and hissed softly. “Are you sure you’re okay, Emma? You don’t look well to me.”

“I’m fine, Mom,” I muttered, but she wasn’t having it.

She dropped the plate in her hand and walked up to me. She touched my forehead with the back of her palm to examine my temperature, then gently pushed my eyelids open with her thumb the way she used to when Annie or I had the flu.

“You look sick,” she said. “Have you been eating well?”

“Yes, Ma,” I retorted a little too fast.

I moved to help set the dining table. When I went back to the kitchen to carry the platter of toast, it hit me; a bout of nausea in one sharp wave, like my stomach had turned inside out. I covered my mouth with my hand and rushed to the bathroom in my room.

After I finished throwing up, I rinsed my mouth and splashed water on my face until my skin felt numb. Then I forced myself back to the dining room.

Mom was sitting there, hands folded, staring at me like she’d just caught me committing a crime.

The meal went on shockingly quietly. Mother didn’t ask a single question, not one. That scared me more than anything. Father didn’t join us; he was probably already out of the house and I didn’t dare ask about him.

My heart was pounding as I forced myself to eat. What just happened? Why did I vomit? Dear God… please don’t let it be what I’m thinking.

The rest of the day dragged on. I slept on and off, scrolled through my phone, and forced myself not to panic. At some point, I picked up my notepad and went through the list of job openings I had saved. My stomach tightened as I dialed the first number.

“Hello, good afternoon,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “I’m calling to ask if the position for administrative assistant is still open.”

The woman on the other end didn’t even hesitate. “Sorry, dear. The position has been filled.”

“Oh. Thank you,” I whispered and ended the call.

I tried another one.

“Hi, please…I'm calling about the office receptionist role…”

“Closed.”

Another number.

“Hello, is this HR? I applied two weeks ago and…”

“We’ll get back to you if you’re shortlisted.”

Another.

“No vacancy.”

Another.

“Send your CV to the email. We’ll review it.”

It went on like that. Rejection after rejection. Some polite, some blunt, some not even pretending to care. By the fifth call, my throat was tight. By the seventh, my chest felt heavy.

I finally dropped the phone on my bed and lay back, staring at the ceiling. How did my life fall apart so fast? I wondered. One moment I was living in a luxury apartment, working for one of the most powerful men in New York. The next, I was here, jobless, broke, and confused.

I pressed my palms over my eyes, willing myself not to cry. Not now. Not yet.

I didn’t know then that the worst was still waiting for me.

The next morning, I was still in slumber land when I felt a tap on my back. I snapped out of sleep and opened my eyes to see my mother standing beside me. I jumped up immediately.

“Good morning, Ma,” I greeted.

She didn’t answer. She simply placed a small bowl in my hand.

I blinked. Confused. “What… what is this for?”

“Go in there and pee inside it,” she said.

I froze.

She wanted to check if I was pregnant. Of course she would…she was a retired nurse. She knew all the signs.

I didn’t argue. I couldn’t dare. My legs carried me into the bathroom, she followed behind and stood right at the door, watching. My hands were shaking as I filled the bowl and handed it back to her.

My heart was pounding so hard that it hurt. God, please… please… don’t let it be positive.

She dipped the test strip into the bowl, something I didn’t even realize she had in her hand. She waited. One long minute. Then she lifted it up.

I looked from the strip to her face… and in her eyes, I saw the end of me.