His Surrogate

The bus wheezed to a stop three blocks from Emily's street, and she stepped off into the heavy dusk, bones aching, clothes clinging from hours of sweat and bleach. Her fingers, still cracked from scrubbing grout all day, curled tighter around the strap of her canvas bag. She'd meant to buy gloves last week. Then her landlord raised rent. Again.

A breeze kicked up and carried the city's favorite perfume-hot garbage, fried food, and desperation.

She cut down the alley by the liquor store, keeping her head low. Her building sagged against the next like it had finally given up. Chipped paint, rusted railing. Home sweet home.

She slid her key into the lock.

It turned too easily.

Her gut tightened. She pushed the door open, slow.

The living room was a mess. Couch cushions tossed, drawers dumped out like someone had been looking for something specific-or didn't give a damn.

She stepped inside.

No TV. No microwave. The cheap lamp from the thrift store, the one she was oddly proud of, shattered on the floor.

"No, no, no," she muttered, stumbling toward the bedroom.

Her mattress was ripped open. Closet empty. Floorboard exposed.

The lockbox was gone.

Emily's knees buckled. She sat hard on the floor and stared at the spot where all her money had been. Every tip. Every under-the-table gig. Four hundred and twenty-eight goddamn dollars. The most she'd saved in months.

Her chest clenched, not quite a sob, more like a breath she couldn't finish. But she didn't cry. There was no time for that. Crying wouldn't undo a robbery or feed her tomorrow.

She sat there for what felt like forever before pulling herself up. Her phone was still in her bag. By some miracle, that hadn't been taken.

She scrolled through her contacts. Stared at one name.

Lena.

Lena opened the door wearing a robe and zero patience.

"Jesus, Em. You look like you got mugged by a tornado."

"I got robbed," Emily said.

Lena blinked once, then stepped aside. "Shit. Come in."

Emily collapsed on her friend's sunken couch, ignoring the way a spring jabbed her thigh. Lena's apartment was small, cleaner than Emily's, and somehow always smelled like cheap wine and expensive candles.

"They took everything?" Lena asked, handing her a chipped mug of tea.

"Everything worth anything," Emily said. "Cash. Electronics. Even my shitty microwave."

"Bastards."

Emily nodded, staring into the tea like it might have answers.

"You call the cops?" Lena asked.

Emily snorted. "With what papers?"

"Right." Lena sat down across from her, legs tucked under her robe. "So what now?"

"I don't know. Rent's due in ten days. I have nothing."

Lena went quiet. Then she said, "There's a way to make money. Fast. But you're not gonna like it."

Emily gave her a tired look. "At this point, if it doesn't involve selling a kidney, I'm interested."

Lena tilted her head. "Depends on how you feel about billionaires... and babies."

Emily blinked. "What?"

"There's this thing. Private surrogacy. Like, super private. Not through agencies. Quiet, under-the-table, pay-you-a-million-dollars-if-you-pass kind of thing."

Emily laughed once, sharp and flat. "That sounds made up."