“Josiah. I’m ready for school,” Samantha called into the bathroom.

Less than three months ago, I had to drag her to school. Not because of defiance, but dread. No matter what happened in this crazy adventure with surrogacy, I’d never regret it. The money it provided gave more to Samantha than just the ability to read; it gave her confidence, friends, and hope for whatever future she wanted for herself. Mapleville was her miracle.

The exhaustion of my insane work schedule during the first trimester, which was blissfully almost over, was worth it. Throwing up daily was worth it. Even having to go to the vampire—I mean lab—weekly was worth it.

I wasn’t fooling myself into thinking that handing this baby over to them, the rightful parents, was going to be easy. I knew it wasn’t. I already felt attachment to the little bean, my body not understanding that it was just an incubator. It helped that Dusty and Richard were amazing. Knowing the baby was going to be with loving parents, ones that could provide for them more than I ever could, made it less heart-wrenching, and I knew it was only going to get worse as we got closer to the baby’s birth.

Knock knock knock.

“Sorry, Sam. Yeah, I’m almost done.” I pushed myself up off the floor. I hadn’t puked, which was the first time in a week, but that didn’t mean I felt decent. To the contrary, I felt off. Nauseous and like the other end was going to have issues. If I hadn’t had my shift at the coffee house and Samantha to get to school, I’d probably have stayed home.

“You puking again?” Her inquisitive nature not what I needed right then, for just hearing the word puke said out loud had me wanting to get back into position on the floor.

“No.” I turned on the water, hoping a splash of coolness would help with my current state.

All those movies where they puke once and went straight to the glow when they were knocked up was bologna. I hadn’t even needed the test to know the implantation worked. I took one sniff of my favorite coffee and was shooting off to the bathroom, praying I made it in time. Sunshine and roses it wasn’t. But what amazing miracle was? Or so I kept trying to convince myself.

“Pooping?”

“Too personal, Sam.” I opened the door to find her dressed in her little uniform, her lunch sack in her hand. She’d forget her backpack daily if I didn’t remind her on the way out, but that lunch sack was always in her little hand. I think in an odd way, having to bring her lunch reminded her she was in a better school. Thank goodness the pre-boxed lunches with crackers and turkey were on sale every other week as part of our local store’s ten-for-ten sale, because lunches had not been in our budget.

“You looked green this morning, and every time I look like that you tell me to try pooping, so don’t pretend you don’t poop.”

I had to have the one kid who remembered everything. I hadn’t done that since she was four, but of course she not only remembered it, she utilized it correctly. How she wasn’t cussing like a sailor after the words I said around her before I knew better, I’d never know.

“It’s still not nice to talk about.” I pointed to her backpack, earning me a grunt before she grabbed it.

“Can I get a donut on the way to school?”

“Not today, honey. I left work early yesterday, so no dollars.”

The bar owner, Larry, took one look at me, mumbled something about it being better I didn’t work than to be dead, slipped me a twenty and told me to get out. He was one of the few people who knew what I was doing, even Samantha didn’t know yet. I knew that the first trimester was iffy for all pregnancies and doubly so with pregnancies not created the old-fashioned way, and I just didn’t want to deal with all of the drama that surrogacy would bring until I pretty much knew it was a done deal.

The only reason I even mentioned it to Larry, other than he was a pretty cool guy, was because he saw me puking—the morning part of morning sickness was an out-and-out lie—and he tried to send me home sick, which I couldn’t allow. I might be bringing in enough to help with school, and even buy lunches, but we were nowhere near comfortable financially.

“I hate dollars.” She stomped her foot. I couldn’t even be mad. I did, too.

“You and me both. Frozen waffle instead?”

“Blueberry?”

One time, three years ago, I bought the wrong kind. One time, and she still didn’t trust my waffle-buying abilities. She got that from our dad, so even if it was annoying, I still kind of liked that about her.

“Of course.” I rolled my eyes for good measure, earning me a giggle.

Within minutes, we were on our way to her school which had become my official favorite time of day. It gave us almost a half an hour of uninterrupted time for just us. We talked about school, what she did with Mrs. Jones and different ideas she had in her head from how to make gardens on walls to use less space, to how to make a flying house so you wouldn’t need a car. Remarkably, many of her ideas had some intense science component to them, and it was on more than one occasion I ended up googling her idea to find out just how insanely good an idea she had.

As we pulled up to the school, our morning discussion revolving about her school art show that was coming up, she looked to me and sighed. “You coming in with me?”

I always had, but she wasn’t hiding the fact she didn’t want me to with that sigh. Part of me was sad, the other happy she finally felt comfortable enough to go in alone, even if I wasn’t quite sure I was that comfortable.

“Do you need me to?” I didn’t say want for fear she’d feel guilty, but I knew she didn’t need me to. Never had past the first day. I was just her security blanket. One she was finally willing to shed.

“No. I’m in second grade, Siah.”

“Then I will drop you off here. Love you.” I looked behind me as she unbuckled.

“Love you, too.” She leaned over the console to give me a kiss on the cheek. At least she hadn’t become totally independent. I wasn’t ready for that. “Are you picking me up today or is Mrs. Jones?”

“Mrs. Jones. I need to work at the bar tonight so I can have off for movie day tomorrow.” And to make up for the money I’d lost the night before. Larry had been generous, passing me more tips than I had earned, but it was nowhere near enough to make up for the time lost.

“See you tonight.”

And with that she bounded out of the car and I drove to work, a drive I hated now that I was going back toward the city and fighting the traffic the entire way. One day, I hoped to be able to move out of the city, but you don’t leave rent control until you are absolutely sure you have a better option, because there is no getting that sucker back.

The coffee shop I worked for wasn’t a fast-foody type place, making it easier for me to come in a bit later than I had before Sam switched schools. But that also meant I had been passed over for the manager position I’d been gunning for. My boss was nice about it and all, but it still sucked.

After parking out back, I wormed my way into the building and shucked my coat before clocking in. Technically, I was twenty minutes early, but there was always something to do and I was given a slightly flexible start time. My manager knew about Sam and, having kids of his own, he got it.

“Starting early,” I called into the office before grabbing the clipboard of duties to see if there were any opening tasks left undone, and sure as shit there were, but at least it was paperwork, which meant I could get paid to sit.

Taking a seat, I worked on it until the front buzzer rang indicating it was coffee time. I made my way out front and began what became many hours of coffee making, our location exceptionally busy with a main detour running right in front of us.

It was silly, and I knew it was, but every time the door opened, I secretly hoped it was Dusty or Richard. I knew that to them, I was just a means to an end, but if I’d met either of them in any other circumstances, I’d have thought them to be potential friends.

No, that was a lie. I’d have thought them potential mates. It wasn’t even their scents, though lavender mixed with amber and sandalwood were now my favorites. As pervy as it sounded, even to myself, it was the blend of both of them that did it for me. I couldn’t even blame it on the pregnancy hormones, either, since that very first meeting had me dreaming less than appropriate thoughts. They were freakin’ married, for goodness sakes.

When the influx of customers died down, I made myself a cup of tea using the ginger syrup I convinced Illona, who was the one currently doing our ordering, to stock. She thought I was crazy at the time, but it had become increasingly popular, and I planned to try it in my coffee once the baby was born and the thought of it was no longer revolting.

“You out first?” Gina, my coworker asked. She was a twentysomething trying to figure out what she wanted to be when she grew up, using this as a pit stop along the way. We teased her that Cafe Om wasn’t the way to become a trophy wife, and she just laughed, telling us one urban legend of the romantic properties of Cafe Om after another. She’d get her head out of the clouds soon enough. It wasn’t as if her parents would let her live rent-free forever.

“Yeah, I think so. Three. You?”

“Four thirty. Sucks. Wanna switch?”

I very much did, the extra hour and a half of guaranteed wage would help, but if I was going to work another six hours at the bar, I needed a little break in between, even if that “‘break”‘ was spent at the bar watching television and getting a feel for the crowd. The weird feelings of the morning hadn’t subsided much, although when I was busy they stayed in the background. When I stopped, they slammed into me. Trimester two was my goal post. I knew once I got there it would be smooth sailing, at least puking-wise.

“I can’t. I gotta work the second job.” Which was mostly the truth. I could technically work for her. If she had a legit reason I might have, but because she was lazy—not so much.

“I don’t know how you do it. You never even go out. When do you get laid?” Oh, the woes most people my age and even a bit older faced.

“I don’t.” I laughed it off as a joke, but not getting laid was no joke. Sadly, it was my life. I didn’t regret taking Samantha in, not even for a second, but suppressing all of your heats really messed with your body. That was a side benefit of being a surrogate I hadn’t even considered until the automated message from the pharmacy called to let me know my auto-fill was ready.

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it. I’m going to restock the front, if that works for you.” I couldn’t stand still anymore; the longer I did, the worse it hurt, and far more likely diarrhea cramping then puking. I really hoped I wasn’t coming down with something. I so didn’t have time for that.

“Yeah. I’ll break down the second station now that lunch is over,” she said, both of us knowing I was going to be the one breaking down the station.

And as I finished doing so, after completely restocking the front, it was blissfully time to go and get some guys drunk.

The bar I worked at was an alpha bar called Pete’s, even though the owner’s name was Larry. He said that his name wasn’t sexy enough. I hated to break it to him, neither was Pete, but at least we got to crack for Pete’s sakes jokes, so there was that. I was there after only a fifteen-minute drive, even with the detour, my car parked by the dumpster, which depending on which day of the week it was, sometimes resulted in my car smelling like urine, but it was that or metered parking, and the dollars saved were worth the short-term stench.

The bar was already crowded, and I remembered what I probably had blocked out for my own mental health, it was Omega Night. A lot of bars were going that route, and I got it; bring eligible omegas into a place, give them cheap beer and treat them like royalty, and the alphas will come flocking. Problem was, at Pete’s, the alphas were always flocking, so omega night just meant being really busy with crappy tips, thanks to the discount drinks.

“Where’s my station, Pete?” I asked Larry as I crawled under the counter instead of flipping it up where there was a pass-through. It was a mistake I recognized immediately as the dizziness almost took me down.

“You need to go home? I got this.”

I shook my head vehemently. A little too vehemently, my dizziness returning. I thought back to my last meal, which had included protein, the lack of which was usually the catalyst for these spells. I leaned on the bar, feigning a relaxed pose while using it to hold me up. As much as I’d felt off all day, this was new and managing to get me more than a little worried.

“Naw, Larry, just stood up too fast.” Maybe. I hoped. Jesus, let it be as simple as that. “My station?”

“Why don’t you just help me at the bar?” Larry tossed me a cloth.

“You don’t need help.”

He never needed help at the bar. He was like a savant when it came to pouring drinks and making sure all the customers felt attended to. Anyone else would need multiple helpers. Him? Not so much. His ability to fill a tray of beers as we spoke was a testament to that skill.

A part of me wanted to say yes. Moving side to side and front to back would be a lot easier than winding my way through all of the people, especially as the night came to an end and alphas started to get handsy. On a good day, I could avoid most all of it, but when I was off, my ass got more “accidental” touches than I liked, which was pretty much none.

“No, but having you not dead works well for me.”

I knew then that I wasn’t hiding things as well as I had hoped, and since it seemed to be getting worse by the minute, it was probably for the best. Shit, at that point I wasn’t even sure if driving home was the best of options.

“I can—” I didn’t even know where I was going with the sentence as the second word escaped my lips, the room suddenly spinning, the lights dimming, and my skin prickling.

“Shit.” Larry’s arms came around me, his tone so serious it scared me almost as much as the near blackness I was encased in. “Are you okay?”

No. No I was not.

The next thing I remembered was the sound of beeping in my static-filled ears. It took all I could do to crack open my eyes to see what I instantly recognized as a holding room at the ER. The last time I’d been there, I’d gotten there too late, my mother already gone, my father having passed away at the scene.

I wasn’t in pain, but I didn’t feel right, either. Along with the static sound that made me feel like I was standing next to a ginormous radio set between channels, I also had a pounding headache and a fatigue like none I’d ever felt before, far worse than the first few weeks of my pregnancy, when staying awake was my most difficult task of the day.

My hand, as heavy as it was, made its way to my belly.

The baby was gone.

I knew it in my gut. Gone. There, then not. I had no idea how to process that, and as the beeping increased in volume and speed, I found my ability to focus enough to handle the knowledge nonexistent.

A nurse came running in, her eyes glued to the machine making the horrible noise.

“You need to calm down, sir. Your heart wasn’t designed to be going this fast while you are lying still.” She was trying to keep things light, but I could feel the tension rolling off her.

“Tell me,” I demanded, needing to hear the words.

“Tell you what, sir?” She couldn’t even meet my eyes as she asked, pretending to be looking at something on the machine I was connected to, her eyes not even in the direction of any actual data.

“Tell me about the baby. I need to know,” I pleaded, the beeping increasing with my distress.

“The doctor will be with you shortly.” Her hand settled on my arm, offering comfort.

“I need to know. Please. I need to know. Tell me.” I was sobbing as I begged for her to answer me.

“I’m sorry,” was all she said as she offered me a hug, one I readily accepted.

The baby was gone.

It wasn’t until an hour later I heard the doctor explain a bunch of bullshit I didn’t understand about the tests showing that the baby had been healthy, but the placenta attached improperly and about me needing a blood transfusion, the lack of red blood cells a contributing factor to my blacking out.

Not that it mattered. Whatever the reason, the baby was gone, and while I knew the baby wasn’t really mine, never had been nor would’ve been, the loss was just as devastating.

I sobbed myself to sleep, right there in the ER. I shed tears for the baby that I’d never meet, the dads who had waited for her for so long, and my parents whose last night came rushing back to to me every time I opened my eyes and saw where I was.