A sharp pain tore through my lower back like a cold blade, forcing me upright. My belly tightened as if gripped by an invisible hand. Legs trembling, heart hammering in my ears, breath ragged, I clawed at the bed—then collapsed onto the cold tile, sweat streaming down my face. Each pang pushed me further from myself, suspended in a chaotic void.

The pain ripped me away from memories of Andrew—his smile, his promises, our kisses, now reduced to smoke—and dragged me back into the present: a tiny life growing inside me, foreign, demanding my attention, my vigilance, my fight.

“No… I can’t dwell on the past… now I have to live for the present and the future…” I whispered, hand pressed to my belly, feeling each contraction like a warning blade reminding me that I was only Clara—a surrogate, trembling, humiliated.

My eyes landed on the thin white envelope on the table. Cold as stone, heavy as a boulder pressing against my chest. I shuffled closer, hands shaking as I tugged at the paper. Three desperate tugs later, it tore, the dry rip echoing in the silence, spine-chilling. A single word stared back at me:

“Twins.”

The world around me dissolved. Ears ringing, heart pounding in my chest. A shiver raced down my spine. My belly twitched slightly, each internal pulse reverberating like drums of doom. I clutched my stomach, sensing every spasm, every pulse, the helplessness flooding my body. Each heartbeat within seemed to want to tear me in two, splitting me between two lives that weren’t mine.

“What… what does this mean? Twins? Is there some mistake?” I whispered into the empty room, mind spinning, desperate to scream, to escape my own body.

Hands shaking uncontrollably, I fumbled with my phone, misdialing twice before finally getting through. My fingers felt foreign, clumsy, as if the phone itself were slipping from my grasp.

“Beep… beep…”

“Hello, Ms. Dawson. How can I help you today?” The voice on the other end was calm, professional—so calm it made my chest ache.

“Dr. Joss… the ultrasound… it says twins. But… there was only one embryo. Is this… is this a mistake?” My voice cracked, the words almost strangled by fear.

Silence stretched, pressing against me. I could hear my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. A long, weary sigh followed.

“Ms. Dawson, the results were carefully checked. There was initially one embryo.” he began slowly, “but occasionally an embryo can split. Two individuals can develop side by side. It’s rare, but it can happen.”

I swallowed hard, throat tight. The metallic taste of blood coated my tongue—I must have bitten my lip without realizing. My knees shook beneath me, breath shallow, each pang in my belly a cruel reminder that two lives existed inside me, alien and demanding care.

“Splitting…?” I whispered, barely audible, my hands clutching the phone like it could anchor me to reality. “One embryo… but two lives…”

“Yes.” he said evenly, almost too evenly. “It’s uncommon, but possible. I know it may be overwhelming… but you are physically capable of carrying twins. Regular monitoring will be essential. You’ll need rest, nutrition, and constant observation of your symptoms.”

“I… I understand,” I croaked, cutting him off. My chest felt like it was being squeezed, my heart racing so fast it was hard to think. I let the phone slip from my fingers; it hit the bed with a heavy thud that echoed in my skull. Panic and despair wove through my veins, pulling me further from reality. I was no longer myself—just a vessel for two fragile, demanding lives.

The phone vibrated again. Leon Blington. His voice cut through the haze, sharp and clipped: “How are the results today?”

I tried to steady myself, but my voice trembled. “M-my… everything’s fine. But… I’m carrying twins.”

Silence. Then, almost clinically: “Understood. I’ll inform the contract holder. Send all paperwork via email.”

“I… I don’t understand.” I whispered, voice breaking. “Mr. Blington… this isn’t what I expected. I… I don’t want twins. Is there… any way to terminate one? Please… just tell me there’s a choice.”

His tone hardened, slicing through my plea like ice. “Ms. Clara, you must not violate the contract. The decision rests solely with the contract holder. Your duty is to ensure the pregnancy continues without incident. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“But I—”

“Your feelings are irrelevant.” he interjected coldly, leaving no room for argument. “Follow instructions. Take care of yourself and the embryos. That is all.”

Click. The line went dead.

The phone fell, rolling across the tile. I sat motionless, instinctively lifting my shirt to stare at my swollen belly, streaked with purple stretch marks. Hands trembling, pressing against it, heart leaping erratically. I wanted to scream, to cry, but only choked sobs escaped.

A message lit the screen:

“$50,000 has been transferred to your account. The remainder will be paid after delivery. If the babies are healthy, additional bonuses will apply.”

The pale blue glow washed over my tear-streaked face. Each beat of my heart felt like it was shredding the blood in my chest. Memories surged—signing the surrogacy contract, the sensation of my body no longer my own, the loss of autonomy. I was small, helpless, a boat adrift in a storm with no shore.

I hugged my belly, betrayed by my own body. Each spasm reminded me that two lives existed inside, yet they were shackles tying me to a future I had not chosen. Cold, merciless words clawed at my mind like knives. Two heartbeats simultaneously, two invisible sentences—I was one, fragile, hollow.

Eyes closed, I heard the whisper inside my head:

“Clara… you must be strong… no matter what, do not break…”

I let out a hoarse, trembling laugh:

“But my body… how can I endure this…”

A tear slid down, catching the blue light of the screen. I gripped my sleeve, wondering: who would stand by me? Two heartbeats within, two lives not my own… yet living because of me.

“What… what should I do…?” I whispered, voice a mere thread, shaking, frail.

“No crying… no breaking… but… why… why me?”

I opened my eyes. Outside, dim streetlights filtered through the window, casting soft, tentative shapes across the floor. The glow hinted at a life of ordinary freedom I had longed for, distant but persistent. I froze, gazing at the vague, unreachable world beyond, a future hazy and uncertain.

Yet in my chest, a fragile spark ignited: one day, perhaps, I could step out of this darkness, live for myself, and taste the simple joys that had always existed only in dreams.