“Mel, if you did something like that, we could finally pay off Mom’s mortgage. We’d be done! There would be no more monthly panic sessions. We could finally move and start a fresh chapter. Do it for us. Do it for Jacob.”
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“Ethan,” I began, my stomach already twisting into knots. “You’re not actually suggesting I carry someone else’s baby, are you?”
“Why not?” he asked. “You’ve had a healthy and easy pregnancy with Jacob. There were no complications at all. And think about it, Mel — it’s just nine months. One year of sacrifice, tops. And it would change everything for us. And… think about that family that desperately wants a child but cannot do it themselves.”
He always said us like it meant we. Like I was being invited into something like an equal. But in that moment, something shifted. My hands paused over a pair of socks and I turned to look at my husband.
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“You mean, I’d do all the sacrificing, Ethan. And we’d both enjoy the reward?”
“Don’t be hasty, Mel,” he said, smiling the kind of smile you give someone you’ve already convinced to do something. “Think about it. You’re doing this for us. And for Jacob. And for Mom.”
I didn’t answer right away. I just stared at the folded clothes between us. Somewhere beneath the exhaustion and doubt, I still loved him.
And so I said yes.
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