Ethan said that she was just “going through a rough patch” after his dad passed. But her rough patch became our drowning season. And every spare dollar disappeared into a house she couldn’t afford. Every canceled vacation, every quiet birthday, every “maybe next year” for our son was because of her.
And I kept quiet. Because love asks you to hold your tongue. Until it doesn’t.
I never fought Ethan on it. Marlene was his mother. And I understood loyalty. But after years of missing out, I started to wonder if we were still living our life, or hers.
Then, one night while I was folding laundry on the couch, my husband walked into the room. He stood there for a moment, watching me. His face was calm, almost too calm, the way it gets when he’s been rehearsing something in his head.
“I was talking to Mike at work,” he began, easing into the conversation like it was nothing. “And he mentioned that his cousin, Sharon, was a surrogate. She made about $60,000. Just like that. She just carried the baby and gave birth. That was it.”
“Okay… and?” I asked, still folding Jacob’s tiny jeans. I wasn’t sure if I’d even heard him correctly.
“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.”
“Ethan,” I began, my stomach already twisting into knots. “You’re not actually suggesting I carry someone else’s baby, are you?”
