Chapter 5: Positive
1699 Words
Two weeks felt like two years.
I counted down the days like a prisoner marking time on cell walls. Fourteen days of wondering if it worked. Fourteen days of scrutinizing every twinge in my body, every wave of nausea, every moment of fatigue, trying to determine if it was pregnancy or just stress.
Probably stress. My life had become one long anxiety attack.
The clinic had given me strict instructions: no testing before day fourteen. Let the embryos implant properly. Let the hormones build. Wait.
I hated waiting.
On day twelve, I bought three pregnancy tests from three different drugstores because I was paranoid and ridiculous. They sat on my bathroom counter, taunting me with their pink and blue packaging, promising answers I wasn't sure I wanted.
On day thirteen, I barely slept. I lay in bed calculating: if I was pregnant, I'd be showing by summer. Delivering in late fall. Then I'd have the money, my research would be saved, Mom would be taken care of, and I'd never have to see Dominic Steele again.
Simple. Transactional. Exactly as planned.
Except it didn't feel simple. It felt massive and terrifying and like I was standing on the edge of a cliff I couldn't see the bottom of.
Day fourteen arrived on a Tuesday.
I woke up at dawn, heart hammering. Grabbed the first pregnancy test with shaking hands. Read the instructions three times even though I'd read them a hundred times already.
Three minutes. That's all it took to change everything.
I peed on the stick, set it on the counter, and couldn't look at it. I paced my tiny bathroom—four steps one way, turn, four steps back. Checked my phone. One minute down.
What if it was negative? I'd have failed. The contract would be void. I'd have to return the money. Mom's medical bills would crash back down. My research would stay dead.
What if it was positive? I'd be pregnant. With Dominic Steele's babies. Well, Victoria's babies. Genetically. But growing in my body. For nine months. Then I'd have to give them away.
Two minutes.
I caught my reflection in the mirror. I looked terrified.
"You can do this," I whispered. "Whatever it says, you can handle it."
Three minutes.
I picked up the test with trembling hands.
Two pink lines.
Positive.
I stared at it until the lines blurred. Set it down. Picked up the second test. Peed on it. Waited another eternal three minutes.
Positive.
Third test. Same result.
I sat on the bathroom floor, back against the tub, three positive pregnancy tests lined up on the tile in front of me like evidence at a crime scene.
I was pregnant.
With Dominic Steele's babies.
Holy s**t.
The clinic had said to call them immediately with results. I pulled out my phone, but my hands were shaking so badly I could barely dial.
"Manhattan Fertility Institute, how may I direct your call?"
"This is Dr. Riley Morgan. I need to report... I took the pregnancy test. It's positive."
"Congratulations! Let me transfer you to Dr. Whitmore's office."
Congratulations. The word felt wrong. This wasn't a celebration. This was a transaction completing successfully.
Whitmore's assistant picked up. "Dr. Morgan, wonderful news. We'll schedule your first ultrasound for next week. I'm emailing you the appointment details now. And I'll notify the client immediately."
The client. Not "the father." Not "Mr. Steele." The client. Like I was providing a service. Which, I supposed, I was.
"Is there anything else you need?" the assistant asked.
"No. That's... that's all."
"Great. Congratulations again. This is very exciting for everyone."
I hung up and stared at my phone.
That was it. No fanfare. No moment of acknowledgment. Just scheduling and notifications, clinical and efficient.
My email dinged. The appointment details, plus a new message from Dominic's legal team:
Dr. Morgan,
We've been notified of your positive pregnancy test. Congratulations. Per the contract terms, your monthly stipend will begin immediately. $5,000 has been transferred to your account. You are required to attend all scheduled medical appointments and follow all protocol outlined in section 4 of the agreement. Any questions should be directed to this office, not to Mr. Steele directly.
Regards,
Steele Legal Team
I read it twice, looking for something—anything—personal. A acknowledgment that this was a human moment, not just a business milestone.
There was nothing.
Dominic couldn't even send a text himself. Couldn't manage five words of acknowledgment. Just had his lawyers send a form letter like I'd successfully delivered a package.
I checked my bank account. Sure enough, $5,000 had been deposited an hour ago. More money than I usually saw in a month, appearing like magic because I'd successfully gotten pregnant.
It should have felt good. It felt hollow.
I placed my hand on my still-flat stomach. "Well," I said to the potential tiny cluster of cells inside me, "I guess you're really happening."
My phone rang. Yuki.
"Please tell me you're free for lunch," she said without preamble. "I'm having the day from hell and I need to complain to someone who'll actually listen."
"I'm free." I needed to talk to someone. Anyone. "But I have news."
"Good news or bad news?"
"I... don't know yet."
We met at a cheap Thai place in Midtown, the kind where the food was excellent and the atmosphere was nonexistent. Yuki was already there, stress-eating spring rolls when I arrived.
"Okay, so I have to tell you about this absolute nightmare of a case—" She stopped mid-sentence, looking at my face. "What happened?"
"I'm pregnant."
Yuki's chopsticks clattered to her plate. "You're WHAT?"
"The surrogacy. It worked. I took three tests this morning. All positive."
"Holy shit." She grabbed my hands across the table. "How do you feel?"
"Terrified. Confused. Like I made a huge mistake but it's too late to take it back."
"Did you hear from him? Steele?"
I showed her the email from his legal team.
Yuki's face darkened as she read. "Are you kidding me? This is how he responds? Through lawyers? With a form letter?"
"I'm just the incubator. He made that very clear."
"He's an asshole."
"He's grieving. And he blames me for Victoria's death. I can't expect—"
"You can expect basic human decency!" Yuki's voice rose enough that nearby tables glanced over. She lowered it. "Riley, you're pregnant with his children. Twins, probably, since they usually implant multiple embryos. That's not a business transaction, no matter what the contract says."
"It has to be. For the next nine months, it has to be."
Yuki studied me. "Are you really okay with this? Carrying a baby—or babies—for nine months, then just handing them over?"
I'd been trying not to think about that part. "It's not my baby. It's Victoria's genetic child. I'm just... providing the space for it to grow."
"That's not how pregnancy works and you know it. Those babies will be inside you for nine months. You'll feel them move. You'll hear their heartbeats. You can't not bond with them."
"I have to try. Otherwise..." Otherwise I'd break my own heart. "I need the money too badly to get emotional about this."
Yuki sighed. "Just promise me you'll be careful. With your health, yeah, but also with your heart. This situation is complicated in ways that contract can't cover."
"I know."
"And Steele? If he keeps treating you like s**t, you tell me. I don't care how much money he has. Nobody gets to make you feel worthless."
Something tight in my chest loosened. "Thank you."
"That's what best friends are for. Now eat something. You're eating for two now. Maybe three."
The thought made my stomach flip.
That night, I lay in bed googling everything about early pregnancy. Symptoms, development, what to expect. I'd studied this in grad school, obviously, but reading about cellular division in textbooks was different from knowing it was happening inside your own body.
At six weeks, the embryo would be the size of a lentil. At eight weeks, a kidney bean. At twelve weeks, a plum.
I was growing a human. Multiple humans, probably.
The thought was staggering.
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
My heart jumped—Dominic?—before I saw the message.
This is Marcus Reynolds. Dominic asked me to reach out. He wanted me to tell you that he's... pleased about the pregnancy. And to make sure you're taking care of yourself.
I stared at the text. Dominic was too much of a coward to contact me himself, but at least he'd told Marcus to check on me. That was something. Barely.
I typed back: Tell him I'm fine. And that I can take care of myself.
Marcus responded immediately: He knows you can. But humor him. He's worried even if he won't admit it.
Why?
Because despite everything, those are his children. Victoria's children. This matters to him more than you know.
I deleted the conversation without responding.
This matters to him. But I didn't matter. Just the babies. Just Victoria's legacy growing inside me.
I placed my hand on my stomach again, a gesture that was already becoming habit. "Your father is complicated," I whispered. "And he hates me. But I promise I'll keep you safe. That's my job for the next nine months."
My phone buzzed again. Another email from Steele Legal Team with a PDF attachment: Dietary Guidelines for Surrogate Pregnancy, Exercise Restrictions, Approved Medications List, Mandatory Appointment Schedule.
Thirteen pages of rules and restrictions. Things I could and couldn't eat. How much I could exercise. What medications were forbidden. When I had to show up for check-ups.
Every aspect of my pregnancy controlled and dictated.
I should have been angry. Instead, I just felt tired.
This was my life now. For nine months, my body wasn't my own. It belonged to the contract. To Victoria's memory. To Dominic's carefully controlled plan for the family he'd lost.
I closed the email and turned off my phone.
Tomorrow I'd start following the rules. Tomorrow I'd be the perfect surrogate.
Tonight, I was just going to be scared.
- Writer
