Ariella lived in a world of shadows—fading memories of a childhood overshadowed by pain and neglect. The old bed creaked as she moved, her thin blanket offering little warmth against the chill of her apartment. It wasn't much—a place with peeling walls, a faucet that dripped constantly, and a heater that rarely worked—but it was hers. At least it would be, if she could find a way to pay next month's rent.
The harsh buzz of her alarm shattered the quiet. With a sigh, she sat up, pushing back her messy auburn hair. Her tired eyes met her reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall. Deep brown eyes stared back, eyes that had witnessed too much for someone just twenty-five. The dark circles beneath them told tales of sleepless nights and constant worry.
She couldn't afford to dwell on her troubles. Time was always ticking, and it was set to survival mode. Pulling on her worn coat, Ariella steeled herself against the cold morning air and stepped outside. The busy city enveloped her instantly, its indifference both comforting and painful.
She headed to a small diner where she worked as a waitress—a job she was barely holding onto. The manager, Gus, wasn't known for being kind, and her last paycheck had only just covered groceries, leaving her unable to pay the overdue electricity bill. Ariella walked quickly, her boots splashing through muddy puddles as she mentally prepared to ask Gus for an advance.
Upon reaching the diner, the smell of greasy food and burnt coffee hit her. It was a far cry from the fancy restaurants she had seen on TV, but at least it was warm. Gus, a balding man with a permanent frown, was shouting orders at the kitchen staff when he finally noticed her.
He frowned, "You're late." His voice cut through the noise of clattering dishes.
"Just by two minutes," Ariella whispered, forcing a smile. "I'll catch up during the lunch rush."
Gus grunted, not impressed. "If you last that long. Table four needs drinks, and table seven is unhappy with their eggs. Get to it."
Ariella nodded and put on her apron, feeling a knot in her stomach. She had barely survived her first hour when the news came: Gus was firing her.
"It's not personal, kid," he said with a shrug, but his tone felt different. "Business is slow, and I need reliable staff. You're just… not dependable."
His words hurt more than she thought they would. She wanted to argue, to explain her efforts, but the lump in her throat stopped her. Instead, she nodded and walked out. The cold air outside felt harsher now.
For the first time in years, Ariella let herself cry. The tears flowed silently, a release she didn't know she needed. But even as she sobbed, she realized she couldn't afford to feel sorry for herself. She had no safety net, no family to turn to, and no idea where her next meal would come from. Life didn't pause for people like her.
She wandered through the city, panic swirling in her mind. With less than two weeks to pay rent and no savings, she felt lost. In her desperation, she found herself in front of a plain building with a sign that read:
"Surrogates Needed. Generous Compensation. Life-Changing Opportunity."
Ariella stopped, breathless. The idea seemed crazy. Becoming a surrogate? Carrying a baby for someone else? She knew nothing about pregnancy or being a mother, and the thought of giving away a child felt almost impossible.
The phrase "generous compensation" stood out to her like a beacon. With shaky hands, she took her phone from her pocket and entered the number into her contacts. She hesitated to call, instead, she remained still, gazing at the sign while life continued around her.
________________________________________
Two days later, Ariella found herself in a modern office that looked like it belonged in a magazine. The lobby of the surrogacy agency was all glass and chrome, a sharp contrast to the rundown diner where she had lost her job. She nervously tugged at the hem of her sweater, her anxiety growing with each moment.
A well-dressed woman holding a clipboard approached her. "Miss Ariella Brooks?"
"Yes," Ariella replied, standing up quickly.
"Please follow me. Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong are ready to see you."
Ariella's heart raced as she walked behind the woman down a long corridor. She had spent the last two nights researching surrogacy, considering the pros and cons. The money could change her life—a significant amount to clear her debts, find a place to live, and perhaps start anew. However, the emotional impact was an unknown factor.
When the meeting room door opened, Ariella gasped. At the sleek table sat two people who seemed almost unreal. Gabby Armstrong was breathtaking, her blonde hair perfectly styled and her designer dress exuding elegance. Wellington Armstrong, in contrast, had a quiet strength. His dark hair and sharp features suggested he was accustomed to getting his way, yet there was a gentleness in his eyes that Ariella found compelling.
"Miss Brooks," Gabby said, her smile bright. "Thank you for coming. Please take a seat."
Ariella followed the instructions, her hands feeling clammy. Wellington stared at her a bit longer than was comfortable, and she sensed a strange familiarity. She quickly brushed it off as just nerves.
Gabby jumped right into the topic. "We've been trying to have a baby for years, but it hasn't worked out. That's why we're here. We need someone we can trust to help us make our dream come true."
Her speech sounded practiced and smooth. Ariella nodded, her attention shifting to Wellington. His jaw clenched as Gabby talked, and his hands stayed tightly together on the table, as if he was holding back something important.
When it was Ariella's turn, she cleared her throat, feeling anxious. "I—I want to help. I need the money, but I also… I understand what it's like to feel alone. If I can give someone the family I never had, then maybe it's worth it."
Gabby beamed, and Wellington's face softened. For the first time, Ariella felt she might be making the right decision. Yet, deep inside, she couldn't shake the feeling that this choice would change her life in ways she couldn't foresee.