but it offered no warmth. It was just a weight, a claim. In the dim light of the clinic ro

who saw the world in data points and outcomes. This flicker was a successfu

her voice professionally cheerful. "The embryo has

ed my shoulder once, a gesture that was supposed to be

waiting. Chloe sat in her custom-designed wheelchair, a cashmere blanket draped over her l

e asked, her

tand behind her, placing his hands on her sho

d my body, from my feet up to my flat stomach, as if she w

ents precise and aggressive. She stopped right in front of me, so

ith a manicured finger. The pressure w

mous. "You are just the vessel. A container. Nothing more. This baby

igned the papers. I was Ava Green, a talented architect whose career had been systematically dismantled by Chloe' s father, my st

ried my mother. She resented my presence, my talent, my very existence. Her wheelchair, the result of a car accident years ago, had only giv

ce contorting with a jealousy that burned hot and brig

er me, refusing to let them find a home inside. My body was here, in this cold house, being used as a tool. Bu

between us. Liam shifted uncomfortably behind her, but said

a small, almost

quiet but steady. "I' ll be

e months ahead. It was about a future she couldn't control, a future where I would finally be free of her, of Liam, and of this entire toxic