I was a surrogate twice, and now my children and I have everything we need to live well.
When I was only eighteen I gave birth to my first daughter, Lily. The delivery felt as light as a feather, and I realized that birth itself held no terror. By then surrogacy was already as common as a Sunday roast, and the idea lodged itself deep in my thoughts.
My family was modest. My parents struggled to keep me and my three sisters fed and clothed. I married at seventeen, and with my husband, Tom, and our newborn we scraped by in a cramped flat in Manchester. Money was as scarce as sun in a London fog, and we had no place of our own. I began to entertain the notion of becoming a surrogate, but Tom dismissed it, no matter how I pleaded, because it seemed the only route out of our financial maze.
A few years later a second child arrived, and the pressure mounted. Tom, unable to bear the strain, walked out, leaving me alone with two toddlers. My mother and sisters rallied, watching the girls while I worked night shifts, yet the bills still rose like tide. Then I finally acted on a plan that had haunted me for years.
I travelled to Birmingham and applied at a surrogacy agency. We tried to implant embryos several times, but each attempt fell silent. The last attempt ended in a miscarriage, and I returned home, ready to surrender. Six months later an advertisement flickered on a website: a reputable clinic offered generous terms. I called, thinking, If it works, wonderful; if not, let it be.
This time the stars aligned. For a year we lived in a bright flat of a new block, the intended parentskind-hearted people from Cornwallshowered us with fine groceries, bought toys for Lily and her sister Rose, and paid for trips to the cinema and the zoo. Nine months later I delivered a healthy baby boy, Oliver, his cheeks as rosy as a sunrise.
We moved back to our hometown, and the surrogate fee was enough to buy a twobedroom cottage on the outskirts of Leeds. We still had a year ahead, and we intended to enjoy every moment.
Two years after that, I became a surrogate once more, this time for a family from Shanghai.
Now we reside in a spacious house; the girls have all they could ever wish for. Some folk whisper judgment, but I see nothing wrong with providing my family a good life, even if the path is a little unconventional.
