Chapter 1: The Proposal

Emma sat cross-legged on her bed, the soft glow of her bedside lamp casting long shadows across the room. At 5’6”, she was slender and delicate, her long auburn hair cascading over her shoulders in loose waves. She wore a soft, pastel-colored nightgown that clung to her slight frame, its hem brushing against her bare thighs. Her phone buzzed with notifications from friends, but she barely noticed, her mind tangled in a web of emotions she couldn’t quite untangle.

The knock on her door startled her—abrupt, insistent.

“Come in,” she called, her voice tentative. The door creaked open, and her father stepped inside. He was a towering figure, broad-shouldered and commanding, his presence filling the room. His graying hair was slightly disheveled, and his calloused hands hung at his sides, evidence of years of manual labor.

“Emma,” he began, his voice low and measured, “I need to talk to you about something important.”

Emma’s stomach twisted. Her father wasn’t one for small talk, and the seriousness in his tone made her heart race. “What’s going on, Dad? You’re kind of scaring me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It’s about your mom. She’s been trying for months now to get pregnant, but ... it’s not working. The doctors say it’s unlikely to ever happen.”

Emma’s chest tightened. She knew her parents had been trying for another child, but she hadn’t realized how desperate things had become. “I’m so sorry, Dad. That’s ... that’s really hard.”

He nodded, his expression grim. “It’s been hard on her. On both of us. Which is why ... I had an idea.” He hesitated, his jaw working as if he were wrestling with the words. “I was wondering if you would consider being a surrogate for us.”

Emma froze, her breath catching in her throat. “What? Dad, you can’t be serious. I’m your daughter.”

“I know,” he said quickly, his voice steady but intense. “But think about it. You’re young, healthy. It would mean the world to your mom, to both of us.”

Emma stared at him, her mind reeling. The room felt impossibly small, the walls closing in around her. “But ... how would it even work? Are we talking about ... in-vitro or something? I mean, isn’t that what people usually do?”

Her father shook his head, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s expensive, Emma. And it’s not a guarantee. I’ve done my research. The best way is the natural way.”

Emma’s stomach twisted. “Natural? You mean ... you...” She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Yes,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “I’ll be the donor. It’s the simplest solution.”

Emma’s cheeks burned, her mind racing. “But ... but isn’t there ... some other way? Like, I don’t know, a dropper or turkey baster or something?”

Her father chuckled, the sound dark and indulgent. “Emma, that’s not how it works. The natural way—it’s the most effective. The chances of conception are much higher. It’s just ... biology.”

Emma’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “But ... I’m a virgin,” she whispered, her voice trembling with shame.

Her father’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something hungry and primal passing over his face. He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a low, almost intimate tone. “I know,” he said, his words deliberate. “That’s part of why you’re perfect for this. Your body is strong and young—untouched, fertile. It’s the best vessel for this. Biology favors youth, Emma.”

Emma’s stomach churned, a mix of disgust and something else—something she couldn’t name. She hated the way he was looking at her, his gaze raking over her body as if she were something to be claimed.

“Dad, this is ... this is so messed up,” she said, her voice barely audible.

He reached out, his hand brushing against her knee, and she flinched but didn’t pull away. “I know it feels that way now,” he said, his voice calm but with an undercurrent of something darker. “But you’ll see. It’s the right thing to do. For your mom. For all of us.”

With that, he stood and left the room, the door closing softly behind him. Emma sat there, her heart pounding, her skin crawling with a mix of disgust and dread.

Emma knew she couldn’t handle this alone. The next morning, she approached her mother in the kitchen, her hands trembling as she clutched her coffee cup. “Mom, can we talk?”