I wake up alone.

I go to look for Dominick, but it soon becomes obvious that he’s not in the apartment. I spend a few minutes ruffling around, but I realize that he never even lived here. There’s no clues to be found, so I call a cab, get dressed, and go outside.

I thumb my phone nervously as I stand at the intersection and wait for the cab. I could call him, but should I?

My request was for a regular date, and I assume that “date” ended as soon as we fell asleep, or as soon as the sun rose, or whatever metric Dominick applied.

I’m to obey him once again, and he trained me well enough to know that I shouldn’t call him.

But it wasn’t just my block that he broke through, was it? It felt like we tore down all the barriers between us last night.

I decide I’m going to read the contract when I get home, and I’ll call him after I know just how much of a risk he may or may not have taken last night.

I get home, ignore all my unread emails and voicemails on my business accounts, and tear open the filing cabinet where I stashed my copy of the contract.

I go through it, and it starts out with what I knew already. The cost of the service—which I’ve already paid—is also no surprise to me.

Then I reach the section on “breach of contract,” and suddenly I stop skimming.

There’s an entire section on “appropriate language.”

If, at any point, the dom decides the client has fallen in love with him, he is contractually obligated to terminate the contract. Further, if the client expresses said feelings verbally (e.g. “I love you,”) the dom is required to immediately report the client to the organization as being in breach of contract.

I read through, each word sending a chill down my spine. It says that “the dom” is even supposed to terminate if I ask if he loves me.

If the client breaches contract, all relations with the dom must cease immediately. If the client’s next menstrual cycle arrives normally, she must submit proof to our organization, and while she will not receive a refund on her payment, no further legal action will be carried out.

“Jesus,” I whisper. “Did I lose Dominick forever? I breached contract... and now he’s gone?”

The next paragraph hits me even harder.

If there is a breach of contract, and the client is determined to be pregnant (or the client fails to submit proof of her next menstrual cycle) then I, Madrigal Morningside, agree that the organization will seize all of my assets, and immediately upon birth, that the child will be given up for adoption to the organization.

“What?” I jump out of my chair and throw the fucking thing down. “They’re going to take my child?”

Even with a contract, there’s no way they could actually force me to give up my child. Is there?

And all of my assets? So even if I manage to keep the kid, I won’t have any money to keep a roof over our head and food in our stomachs.

And what about Dominick? Will I ever see him again?

“What if I’m not pregnant,” I whisper.

Did I ever think I’d wish I weren’t pregnant? I’ve so badly wanted to be pregnant for years, and now that I might really have a child growing inside me, I find myself hoping I’m not?

My stomach feels heavy as lead, and it ties itself up into knots as the reality of this horrible situation washes over me.

I start to sob, and I foolishly take out my phone and call Dominick.

“The number you have dialed is no longer in service, if you’d like to—”

Crap.

I throw the phone onto the floor, and it slides across the floor and ends up somewhere under my filing cabinets. If I broke it I don’t even care. The man I love is gone, and I’ve likely lost everything. The best outcome for me now is that I’m not pregnant, and that I can keep my business. I lose the chance to have a baby, and I lose the only man I’ve ever really loved. That’s what I’m hoping for?

* * *

I hold the thing in my shaking hands and watch.

My period is already four days late. The small window in the pregnancy test starts to show a hint of blue, and the unmistakable shape of a plus sign brightens into clear view.

I don’t know whether to laugh, or to cry.

I decide to laugh. They are not going to take my baby away from me. I decided that before I even knew if I was pregnant. I might lose Dominick, and I might have to leave everything behind, but my baby is mine.

I wait until I’ve composed myself enough that my heart doesn’t feel like it’s been ripped from my chest, and I drive to my lawyer’s office. I hired him as soon as I read the contract.

After a brief wait, I’m brought into his office. I hold up the pregnancy test.

“You’ll want a doctor to confirm,” he says, “It’s a small margin of error, but you don’t want to uproot your life when there’s a slim chance that—”

“I know,” I snap. “I’ve already scheduled an appointment.”

“Good,” he says, nodding.

“So where are we thinking then?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “This organization... it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I didn’t believe you when you first told me—if I’m being honest—but after digging, it seems real. Real and terrifying. I know you speak Spanish, but nowhere in South America is going to have strong enough legal protections to keep you shielded from them.”

“Spain?” I ask.

He shakes his head.” I wouldn’t bet on it. “Denmark or Sweden are your best bets. I think I can get most of your assets transferred safely there—you’ll have to pay hefty taxes, of course—but you and your baby should be safe there.”

I bite my tongue until I taste the iron tang of blood.

“Can I ever come back?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “This organization has seemingly penetrated the U.S. government. It wouldn’t be safe for you or your child to ever return. Honestly, you wouldn’t even want to leave whichever country you end up in. You’d be all but stuck there.”

I take a deep breath. My parents could still visit me, and I could run my business from Denmark or Sweden. Then again, my parents all but hate me. If I fled the country never to return, how would that kill my chances of ever mending things over with them or Destiny? And I’d likely never see Dominick again. My kid would probably have a good life there... but—

“Keep in mind,” he says. “You want to act on this as soon as possible. I recommend you sell you sell your house for whatever you can get. Make sure you get a cash offer, even if it’s only half of the market value, and get out of the country within a week.”

“Any other advice?” I ask.

“Under no circumstances should you talk to anyone within this organization. Especially not…” He starts ruffling through the papers, searching for his name.

“Dominick,” I say. “I shouldn’t talk to Dominick.”

* * *

My eyes are sore from crying when I get to the airport. I have one connecting flight in New York, and then I’m out of the United States for what will likely be the rest of my life.

I couldn’t bring myself to see my family one last time. I’m an emotional wreck right now, and I feared I’d only make things worse with them. I’ll have to try to explain to them later, if I ever get the courage.

I didn’t hear a word from Dominick, which was likely for the best. I don’t know how I’d have handled hearing from him again.

My lawyer pleaded with me to put up a wall and not even consider speaking to him. He said it’s critical that I’ve cleared customs in Sweden before the organization has any idea where I’ve gone. Even though it seems unlikely to me, he said they may have a way of stopping me from leaving.

I wait in the security line with my passport in hand. I feel drained of energy and exhausted. I haven’t slept well. I sold my house for a fraction of what it’s worth, and all of my money is in a country I’ve never been to. I’ll have to try to make my business work there, somehow. I’ll have to give my child a life there.

I turn around the winding ropes leading toward the metal detectors and body scanners, and I spot him coming toward me from the escalator.

Dominick.

My first thought is to jump over the ropes and run toward him with my arms outstretched.

My second—more rational—response is to look down and hide my face. I go for the second option, but as my heart pounds and my spirits soar, I keep peeking up to look at him. He’s coming right toward me.

“Madrigal,” he shouts as he reaches the ropes. “I know you’re—”

I look up and see him making eye contact with me. I shake my head at him, but I can tell my eyes are begging him to come to me.

“Madrigal,” he says, taking my hand from across the rope. I let him touch me like that, not willing to fight him. He’s the father of my unborn child.

“Madrigal, I—”

The man behind me coughs and shoots me a dirty look, so I duck under the rope and exit the line. My lawyer would kill me for doing this.

“I’m not supposed to talk to you,” I say. My voice sounds weak, like I’m not really able to put up any real resistance.

“I know,” he says, and I see genuine anguish across his face. “But I need to tell you something.”

I bite my lip and watch him. I manage a nod, because if I tried to speak, I’m sure I’d break into tears.

“The organization has decided to let you off the hook. You were my first assignment, and after a thorough review, it was decided that allowing you to go on the date with me was an egregious error which led you into breaching contract. I’ve taken responsibility for it, and the organization has decided to let you off the hook for my mistake.”

My eyes widen. It sounds almost too good to be true, which must mean that it is.

“What’s the catch?” I ask.