Scent of antiseptic clung to the air, thick and suffocating. You stood frozen in the doorway of the hospital room, your fingers trembling against the curve of your swollen belly. It's Madelyn’s belly, Madelyn’s dream, Madelyn’s child.

Exactly six months ago, you signed the surrogacy papers that would finally fulfill Madelyn Halmahera's dream of motherhood, the dream her own body had denied her.

The embryo, created in a sterile lab, was made from her egg and Jake’s reluctant contribution. You were just the vessel. The rented womb. Nothing more, until now.

Jake’s back was turned to you, his shoulders hunched over the bed where his wife’s body lay, already cold. The sheets were too white, too crisp, as if they could erase the bloodstains from the pavement where the truck had hit her. Where she’d been crossing the street to buy you ginger tea for the morning sickness she had envied.

"Get out."

His voice was a blade, honed by grief.

You didn’t move. The baby—hers, theirs, yours—kicked violently, as if protesting the cruelty of it all.

Jake spun around violently, his bloodshot eyes blazing with a toxic mix of grief and fury. The heart monitor's flatline still echoed in the sterile air as he jabbed a trembling finger toward the door. "This is your fault she's... Ugh, your fucking fault!" His voice shattered like broken glass.

"It was her choice!" you choked out, clutching the contract in your bag, the one with Madelyn’s signature looping in hopeful pink ink. "Please love this baby like you loved her."

World became tilted as he stumbled back. That damned contract? Worthless paper now. The baby of her obsession, her impossible dream, had never been his choice. Only Madelyn's stubborn hope had made him agree. Right now the machines keeping her alive beeped their relentless countdown, each tone pumping more poison into his veins.