Then the words slipped out more bluntly than he seemed to expect.
“…and I need a child.”
Emily felt the blood drain from her face.
For a moment she forgot the pain.
“What?” she whispered.
“I’m infertile,” the man said. His voice softened. “My wife passed away last year. We tried everything—doctors, treatments, hope after hope that kept collapsing.”
He hesitated.
“If you… if you give me your baby… I’ll pay for everything.”
Emily exploded.
“Are you crazy?!” she shouted, drawing every eye in the lobby. “My child is not for sale!”
He lowered his voice, unwilling to turn the moment into a spectacle.
“It’s not a sale,” he said carefully. “It’s an opportunity. You’re alone. You have nowhere to live. I could give the child education, healthcare… a future.”
Emily tried to walk toward the exit.
Her legs failed.
Days of hunger.
The street.
Fear.
And the contractions coming closer together.
Everything drained her strength.
A nurse hurried over. Her name badge read Nurse Sarah Mitchell.
“Ma’am, you need immediate care,” she said. “Your contractions are very close.”
“Take me to the public hospital,” Emily pleaded weakly.
Sarah hesitated.
“There’s no ambulance available… and the public ER is overwhelmed.”