The Surrogate Contract With The Ruthless Billionaire

The house hadn't changed a bit.

It was still the same pale blue shutters, and small winds dancing in the breeze. The paint on the walls was peeling a little more, and the flower beds needed trimming, but it still smelled like my childhood.

My heart thundered as I stood on the front porch, hand frozen mid-knock. It was a strange sensation, like I was a teenager again, sneaking in late, unsure what kind of welcome I'd receive. Only this time, it had been Five years, and I hadn't just missed curfew, I'd disappeared.

I knocked softly so as not to startle her, and held my breath as the seconds passed.

When my mother opened the door, her eyes didn't register. She just stood there in her faded floral apron, a dish towel still clutched in one hand, and blinked like she was seeing a ghost.

"Ava?"

I smiled sadly, though my throat ached too much to say anything.

Then, all at once, she rushed forward and wrapped me in her arms. I nearly dropped my bag as she pulled me into her chest, her hands trembling, her shoulders shaking.

"Ava, my God.." Her voice broke. "I thought... I didn't know if you'd ever-"

She couldn't finish her sentence, but I didn't need to. I understood everything she hadn't said.

I buried my face into the crook of her neck, into the scent of garlic, soap, and home, and held on tighter than I'd meant to. Five years of distance collapsed into that embrace, of letters that said everything and nothing, of phone calls where I pretended to be too busy, too tired, too far away.

"I missed you," I whispered, the words cracking as they came out. "I'm so sorry, Mama."

She pulled back to look at me. Her eyes were older now, but still sharp, searching my face like she was afraid I might vanish if she blinked. Then she cupped my cheeks in both hands and smiled through tears.

"You're here," she said. "That's all that matters."

I nodded, afraid I'd unravel completely if I spoke again.

"Come in," she said quickly, ushering me inside. "Come sit down, let me look at you properly, my precious baby's home."

I followed her, my heart full and throat tight. But not once did she ask why I was here.

She made tea even though it was warm outside. That was always her way, warmth for warmth, comfort for comfort. As she poured, she talked about the neighbors, the choir at church, and the tomato garden she finally got to grow after all these years.

And I sat and listened, nodding at intervals, grateful for every second she filled the silence.

When she finally sat down across from me, her eyes softened. "You look tired," she said gently.

"I've been... busy," I said, forcing a small smile. "Life's just been a lot."

She reached over and touched my hand. "You wrote, now and then, you said you were studying a course. I didn't ask too many questions, but I always wondered, was it just school keeping you away all this time?"

I hesitated, heart thudding.

"I didn't want you to worry," I said at last, my voice low. "There were... complications, but it's over now, I'm safe."

That last word felt strange on my tongue; it didn't taste like the truth, but I didn't take it back. She nodded slowly, seeming to accept that for now.

"I just wish I could've been there for you," she said. "Whatever it was, whatever you went through, you shouldn't have done it alone."

I squeezed her hand. "You were always with me, Mama. Every time things got too heavy, I thought of you."

Tears welled up in her eyes again, but she didn't let them fall this time. She just smiled and stood up, clapping her hands together softly.

"Come on. You need a proper meal, and I need to keep my hands busy, or I'll cry all over again."

Dinner felt like stepping into the past.

She made every one of my favorites without even asking. I helped chop the vegetables while she hummed and stirred the stew like she had done a hundred times before. 

But it wasn't about the food, it was about the rhythm of being together. The small comforts of shared space and the ease of love that had never been conditional.

When we sat down to eat, she reached across the table and touched my wrist.

"Are you staying for good this time?"

I looked up from my plate. The question was gentle, but it carried a lot of weight.

"I think so," I said. "Not here in this house. I've been... living somewhere else, but I want to come around more often, I need this again. You."

She smiled, eyes crinkling. "This house is always yours to stay in, Ava. You don't even have to ask."

I smiled back in response before voicing a thought that had been at the back of my mind. "I was thinking, maybe I could get someone to check in on you, it could be a nurse, or a nanny, just in case-"

She waved the idea off with a laugh. "I've been living on my own just fine. Besides, you'd waste your money, and I'm old, not broken."

I laughed, too, though something tightened in my chest. After everything I'd done for her, she still didn't know the cost, and maybe she never would.

We spent hours talking after dinner on the couch, barefoot, wrapped in an old blanket, even though it was warm. 

She told me stories I'd heard before but didn't mind hearing again. She asked about what I'd been doing, and I gave her just enough to make her smile, but not enough to make her suspicious.

And all the while, my phone lay face down in my bag by the door, buzzing once again and again, but I wanted to remain this peaceful for a bit more.

The messages: Gloria (Nanny)

Ava, I've been calling, but you're not answering.

It's urgent, the triplets aren't here.

Please answer, I think someone took them.

But I didn't see any of it, because I was finally home for the first time in Five years.

And I was too busy remembering what it felt like.