The pounding of my feet against the ground as I jog the trail around my subdivision is the only sound that echoes through my ears. My runs are my time for contemplation. I always wear earplugs to tune out the world around me. My days are filled with endless consultations, phone calls, emails, research, and a constant flood of external stimuli. I had to learn the hard way that taking time out to reflect and redirect are as important as breathing to my mental well-being.

But one thing keeps interrupting my intense run, and no matter how hard I press my body to run faster, dig deeper ... she still invades my thoughts. I can't shake the unsettling feeling that having her in my house has brought about. Knowing that she'll be there when I get back. That she'll be there for the next nine months––and then the baby will take her place.

For the past two years, I have isolated myself from friends, family, and colleagues. I couldn't compartmentalize the memories that being around them brought back. Every time I had drinks with my friends, I remembered all the times Sophia and I had done the same thing with the same group of people. We shared a circle of friends, which made it impossible for me to forge new memories with all the painful ones dredging up every time I saw the look of pity in their eyes. They knew I was struggling, but they didn't know how to help me to overcome it.

I just wanted a semblance of normalcy again and all they wanted to do was fill the void they knew Sophia's death had left. But a beer and a night out with friends could never fill that void. It could never be filled by anything or anyone.

I'm of the firm belief we are granted that one special person meant to make our life something, more.

Sophia was it for me.

So I know that these feelings that Ms. Murphy is stirring within me are nothing more than my body craving human contact and my mind seeking an escape from the darkness that has consumed me of late.

Yes, that must be what it is. I'm lonely. Having her in my house has reminded me of just how much I've missed having someone to come home to.

With that bit of confusion somewhat resolved, I push myself a little harder on the last mile of my run.

I make a mental note that I need to call one of the nurses from the hospital that I have a casual, no-strings-attached fling with every now and then. It's been months since I've been with a woman. Clearly, my checking out Ms. Murphy must be a result of sexual frustration. I've never been the kind of man who needed sex on a regular basis after Sophia's death. Every few months, I'd find a willing partner to spend one night with. I was always clear that there were to be no expectations of commitment or emotional attachments. Just sex. A physical release and nothing more.

I usually only spend one night with them and no more. But Jackie, the nurse at the hospital, is the only exception to that rule. Not because I've grown fond of her or anything; it's more that she knows how to please and never asks for anything beyond a night of raw fucking. She has no illusions that what we share is making love. She takes it for exactly what it is ... a quick fuck to release my tension and ease the frustrations of being alone.

Yeah, calling her wouldn't be a bad idea at all.

* * *

Mr. Scott was gone all morning and well into the evening. I only heard him enter the house after his morning run and then a few minutes later, he left again, this time in his SUV.

I've made it my mission not to let him get under my skin. Honestly, his cold demeanor will make things so much easier. This experience might have been extremely uncomfortable if he were friendly or somewhat flirty, especially after what I saw in the master bedroom.

Maybe it would have been better had I went with a couple instead of a widower. But something about him and his picture stuck with me long after my meeting with the surrogacy agent.

William Scott looked like a man who needed me. As stupid as that may sound, that's the honest truth as to why I accepted his offer and took a bus all the way to Chicago to carry his baby. I've never heard the details of his wife's death, and frankly, that bothers me. For reasons that I don't understand, I want to know all about him. What are his hobbies? What is his favorite type of music? Does he like to cook?

I know that I'm treading on dangerous ground, but I believe more than just coincidence brought us together. Maybe we were meant to help each other overcome our pasts.

I huff. I'm being a romantic, and I should know better. Happy endings never happen for women like me.

My stomach chooses that moment to growl loudly, reminding me that I need to eat.

But just as quickly, I'm taken back to this morning’s breakfast incident. I don't know why I got so excited when I saw that damn plate of pancakes on the table and thought he had cooked breakfast for me. It was completely stupid of me to think that he would go out of his way to cook a meal for me. In all the years I had been with Jay, he hadn't so much as made me a pitcher of Kool-Aid.

I reach over to the nightstand and type in a quick thank you to Abigail. Even though I secretly wish it had been Mr. Scott who had cooked breakfast, I need to thank her for the thoughtful gesture.

I hit send and sit back against the headboard, casually flipping through a magazine I found on the dining room table. It's a home and garden edition, but the pictures are popping with so much color that I am itching to paint a landscape. My room doesn't have any spectacular views, nothing like the sunroom, but barren trees that have yet to sprout buds and embrace the oncoming spring weather line the yard. Occasionally, a bird will venture out into the open and brave the chilly air.

I love winter––It's the contrast in color that captivates me. Everything is muted except that which is brimming with life. Birds, chipmunks, and squirrels occupy most of the trees. And every time one decides to leave the protection of the thick evergreens, a burst of color against the barren landscape catches my eye.

I wonder if Mr. Scott would mind if I set up an area to work in the sunroom? As soon as the thought enters my mind, a wave of elation soon follows. The corners of my mouth stretch upward as a smile overtakes my forlorn expression.

Sketching! That's exactly what I need. That would enable me to sit and obey the doctor’s orders while exercising my mind at the same time. Nothing puts me more at ease than a pencil in my hand and a blank page before me. The only thing better … my easel and paint brushes with a canvas just waiting to be filled with color.

As soon as I’m able to get out and about, I’ll take a cab to the city and purchase some supplies.

The sound of a text alert draws my attention down to my phone.

I look to see that Abigail has responded.

Well, at least I'm making progress with his sister. Even if Mr. Scott doesn't want me to get personal with him, Abbi doesn't seem to mind befriending me. And right now, I could use a friend.