The Request Over Birthday Cake
I was cutting my husband’s birthday cake when he brought up his boss.
Our seven-year-old, Sophie, had gone to bed after helping decorate it with far too many sprinkles.
“Graham wants to be a dad,” Adam said, reaching for another slice.
“Okay?”
“He’s looking for a surrogate. I told him how much you loved being pregnant with Sophie.”
I put down the knife.
“Why would you tell him that?”
Adam hesitated.
“He asked if you might consider doing it for him.”
I stared at him.
“Carrying his baby? And you told him I might agree without asking me first?”
“I wasn’t agreeing to anything for you. I just said you might be interested.”
He slipped his arms around my waist.
“He said we’re lucky. Having Sophie. Having each other.”
I leaned against him, wondering where this conversation was going.
For months, Adam had been working weekends.
Yet somehow, I’d felt lonelier when he was home.
Having his arms around me again felt nice.
A week later, he brought Graham up again.
“He invited us to dinner. No pressure. Just a conversation.”
“I haven’t said I’d carry his baby, Adam.”
“I know. But he’s considering me for regional director.”
I frowned.
“What’s that got to do with this?”
Adam took my hand.
“I’m not saying helping him guarantees anything. But Graham would know he could count on me. On us.”
We’d been arguing about money for months.
The mortgage payment had increased.
The car he’d insisted he needed for work cost almost as much as our groceries.
A promotion would make a huge difference.
But there was a simpler solution we hadn’t tried.
“Maybe we should sell the car first,” I said.
He released my hand.
“I already feel like I’m failing you, Hazel. Do you have to make me feel worse?”
Somehow, I ended up comforting him.
After that, Adam seemed to realize that talking about Graham wasn’t convincing me.
So he started talking about our future instead.
No more weekend shifts.
A vacation with Sophie.
A new washing machine, preferably one that didn’t need restarting halfway through a load.
“You keep saying you miss your husband,” he told me. “I’m trying to find a way to come home.”
I missed him terribly.
And by the time we sat down to dinner with Graham a few days later, I was willing to hear him out.
Graham was courteous and soft-spoken.
He was gay, single as far as I knew, and successful enough that he could afford excellent medical care and support.
He explained that he’d been looking into surrogacy for some time.
Then he asked whether I’d consider carrying his baby.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to say.
I thought about my pregnancy with Sophie.
The appointments.
The exhaustion.
The months of carrying a child I’d already loved before she was born.
And Graham was asking me to go through all of that again, knowing this baby wouldn’t be mine to raise.
I glanced at Adam.
He was watching me, waiting.
“I can’t promise anything,” I said. “It’s a huge decision.”
“Of course,” Graham replied. “I wouldn’t expect an answer tonight.”
He spoke about wanting a child, not about Adam’s promotion.
He seemed sincere about wanting to be a father.
That reassured me.
On the way home, Adam kept asking what I thought.
I said pregnancy wasn’t a favor like an airport pickup.
“I know,” Adam said. “You’d be doing something extraordinary.”
“And if I don’t?”
He stared through the windshield.
“Then I guess we keep trying to make things work.”
May you like
He just sounded defeated.
I reached across the console and took his hand.
