The Surrogate Read Online Penelope Ward

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, Contemporary, Forbidden Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 96833 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
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Lavinia softened as my words seemed to resonate. “Fair enough.” She nodded. “We all do what we must for our mental health.”

My phone chimed with a text. It was Abby. A photo. And not just any photo—the first ultrasound image I’d seen since the original one. The baby now had a well-formed head and looked like an actual human. I could even make out a little upturned nose, like Britney’s. My chest constricted as I tried to fight the emotions building inside of me with every ounce of my being. It was a mixture of torment and a love I couldn’t allow myself to feel.

“What is it?” Lavinia asked. “What has you so transfixed?”

“Abby just sent a photo.”

“It’s not topless, is it?”

Rather than answer, I turned the phone screen toward her.

Her mouth slowly opened. “Oh my.” Her eyes began to water. “You can really see everything now. Look at that giant head.” She laughed. “It’s definitely your child, Sigmund.”

I rolled my eyes and chuckled.

“Did she find out the gender?” she asked.

“I don’t think we’re finding out.”

“Why not?”

“I left that up to Phil and Kate. They decided on leaving it as a surprise. So, unless they change their mind, we’ll have to wait.”

“I might keel over and die before then. Bloody hell, I want to know.”

“I’ll whisper it to your grave.”

Lavinia reached over to slap my head playfully.

After she handed the phone back, I got lost in the image, staring for a long while. While seeing the beating heart in the first ultrasound had made things seem real, nothing had hit like this—seeing its actual form. Seeing it as a human.

This was my child. My son or daughter.

God.

My eyes began to water.

Fuck.

“You’re looking awfully detached right now, Sigmund.”

I wiped my eyes. “Fuck you, Lavinia.”

“Fuck you more, dear.” She laughed.

CHAPTER 35

* * *

Sig

Track 35: “What Happens After You” by Weezer

That evening, I eventually went upstairs to FaceTime Abby, which had become our ritual every night before I went to bed. Due to the time difference, we spoke around her dinnertime. Our chats had become my favorite part of every day.

I’d responded with a Wow earlier to the ultrasound picture, but I hadn’t said anything else, mainly because I’d have a hard time summarizing in a text what I was feeling.

“Hey,” she said as she popped up on the screen.

Abby’s hair was unruly, looking a bit knotted. Her cheeks were flushed. It reminded me of what she’d looked like the night we had sex and made me yearn to be with her right now.

“What are you up to?” I asked.

“I just vacuumed.”

“Ah.” I laughed. “Looks like it took a lot out of you.”

“Are you saying I look bad?”

“No. Just the opposite. Beautifully flustered.”

“Thank you…I think.”

I kicked my feet up. “How was your day?”

“Busy. After the ultrasound, I had to take my dad to his chemo appointment. It’s been nonstop.”

“Are you eating when you should?”

“I’m trying.”

“Abby…” I scolded.

“What?” She flashed a guilty smile.

“Are you going to make me get on a plane right now? Come to Rhode Island and force feed you?”

“Don’t tempt me. If I starve myself, does that mean I get to see you? I might be onto something.”

Every weekend I considered flying in to surprise her, even if just for a couple of days. But when I got close to booking a ticket, my common sense always kicked in. I’d remind myself that the separation we’d been dealt was for her own good, that the sooner she became detached from me, the better. Detached. There was that word again.

She’d also been busy with her father—another one of my excuses. I’d convinced myself that my presence would distract her from being there for him. But whatever I told myself, it didn’t change the fact that I missed her every day, and more today than ever.

“The only thing I feel like lately are those pancakes you never had a chance to make me. I’ve been telling Dad how the British make pancakes differently. He felt bad that you were going to make them for me the morning I got the call about his heart attack. He wants to try them, too.” She laughed. “He’s a big pancake man.”

“I should’ve made them when I was in Rhode Island. I wish I could make them for you both right now.”

She blew a piece of hair toward her forehead. “You didn’t say much when I sent you the photo today.”

I picked at some lint on my bed. “I know. But I haven’t been able to stop staring at him—or her. You don’t know the gender, right?”

“No, I haven’t cheated and asked. If Kate and Phil want it to be a surprise, a surprise it shall be.” She lay back on her bed. “I don’t think I could keep that from you anyway. It’s better that I don’t know. I’m not very good at keeping secrets.”


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