The Surrogate for My Don

I bent down, picked up the damn report, and crumpled it in my fist.

Inside, Julia screamed his name. Victor let out a satisfied growl.

I turned and walked away from that hell, my footsteps silent.

The moment I started the engine, the dam broke.

The snow in Chicago was coming down hard, piling up on the windshield.

I floored it. I had to know it all. The whole, ugly truth.

The emergency room was nearly empty on Christmas. The nurse on duty, Sarah, jumped when she saw my red, swollen eyes.

"Mrs. Moretti? What happened?"

"I need my medical records," my voice was ice. "All of them. The IVF files."

"Ma'am, it's Christmas..."

I slapped a stack of cash on the counter.

"Fifty thousand dollars. Pull up the records for my eggs. Now."

Sarah's eyes went wide.

She glanced at the money, then back at my face. The look in my eyes told her this wasn't a request. She opened the computer.

"Maria Moretti's file... oh my god..." her voice trembled.

"Spit it out."

"Ma'am, your eggs... they were never used. The records show that every single IVF attempt used eggs from a... Ms. Julia Romano."

The world went silent.

999 needles. 999 hopes. 999 heartbreaks.

And my eggs were never even touched.

Staring at the truth on the screen, I heard a sound. It was me. Laughing.

"Thank you for your honesty, Sarah."

The snow fell in thick sheets, painting all of Chicago pure white.

Ironic.

This city of sin looked so holy tonight.

I drove home. Every Christmas light on every house was mocking me.

Red, green, and gold mocked me from every house. Every sparkling light was a fresh stab of pain.

Families were celebrating. Together.

And me? A surrogate for my own husband, carrying another woman’s child, crying in a snowstorm.

When the estate came into view, I couldn't believe my eyes.

The whole house was lit up, brighter than I'd ever seen it.

In the living room was a massive Christmas tree. At least twelve feet tall, covered in crystal ornaments and gold ribbons.

It was the tree I had begged for for years.

Every year I'd ask Victor, "Can we get a bigger tree? For our future kids?"

And he'd always say, "Maria, you haven't produced an heir yet. The Elders in the family would talk. We need to be discreet."

Now, a tree worth tens of thousands of dollars stood in the living room.

Not for me. Not for our child. For Julia.

Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I saw it. The final heartbreak.

Victor and Julia stood before the tree. A huge cake sat on the table.

In pink icing, it said: "To Our New Beginning."

They blew out the candles together. Then they kissed, long and deep.

Julia wore a white evening gown I’d never seen before, a diamond necklace sparkling under the lights.

That necklace. I’d seen it in a magazine. Half a million dollars.

I’d pointed it out once. "That's beautiful," I'd said.

Victor had replied, "Too flashy. Not for you."

Now it was around Julia's neck.

I slipped into the house. No one noticed me.

From the top of the stairs, I heard Julia’s high, tinkling laughter—a sound that grated on my nerves. "Victor, this is the most perfect Christmas I've ever had."

"This is just the start, my queen. Once our child is born, I'll give you the wedding of the century."

I walked into our bedroom and shut the door.

Everything in this room was his choice.

Deep blue walls, because he liked blue.

A leather sofa, because he found it comfortable.

The huge bookshelf, filled with his business books.

I looked around and realized a brutal truth.

Nothing in this room was me.

Not my taste.

Not my desires.

Not a single trace of my existence.

Even the mirror was his pick, because "the angle is perfect for watching the bed."

Five years of marriage. What did I have to show for it?

A cheating husband?

A child that wasn't mine?

A thousand lonely nights?

I sat on the edge of the bed, my hand on my flat stomach.

An innocent life was growing here.

No matter where the genes came from, it was part of me now.

"I'm sorry, baby," I whispered. "Mommy's getting you out of this hell."

I pulled out my phone and dialed a number.

The best divorce lawyer in New York. Marcus Kane.

It rang three times.

"Kane Law, Christmas emergency line." A tired voice answered.

"Marcus, it's Maria Moretti."

Silence on the other end for a few seconds.

"Maria? What... what's wrong?"

"I want a divorce."

"A divorce? Are you insane? Do you know who your husband is?"

"Of course I do. Don Victor Moretti, the biggest Godfather in Chicago," my voice was pure ice. "So tell me, Marcus. How much will it cost to divorce the biggest monster in Chicago?"

A deep sigh came through the phone.

"Maria... it could cost you your life."