Chapter 3 The IVF Process

MARIA'S POV

I began the IVF process after thorough planning and medical prep. Even though I wasn't allowed to ask questions or talk to anyone, I still managed to get some information about the need for a surrogate. Paul's wife had been in a coma for the past year. He feared she might not make it out of coma, and since they hadn't had any children, he opted for surrogacy to get her replicated.

Her eggs had been collected and frozen, Paul's own had been collected too. I panicked when I saw the equipment fluttering in the fertility clinic. I almost opted out, but when I remembered the contract I signed, I sat back calmly. "You can do this," I reassured myself.

I was ready to receive the embryo after I had been primed with medication to ensure the best possible chance of implantation. The embryo was placed inside my womb in a careful procedure.

A few weeks later, tests confirmed what everyone had hoped for, I was pregnant. The embryo implantation was successful on the very first attempt, marking the beginning of a new chapter not only for me, but for Paul as well.

The first days went by in a blur. My body was still adjusting to the new environment and so was my mind.

I had gone from living in a modest apartment and waitressing part-time, to sleeping in a massive bedroom with silk sheets and windows my length. It was like a dream come through.

I chose not to focus too much on that second part. The fact that weird things were happening in the mansion. I could have overthought it.

Each day started with breakfast served by different faces. I woke each day to the clatter of a tray being left on the table near the window with eggs, fruits and sometimes oatmeal but always herbal tea. I wasn't taking anything too greasy or processed.

After each meal, I would rest a little before a nurse named Claire would knock and take my vitals. From blood pressure to temperature and to my heartbeat. She never stayed long and never spoke except when she asked questions about my health. She always smiled politely like someone who had been trained to show kindness alone.

There was a schedule to follow, though no one gave me a written one. Just gentle nudges like "Time for your walk, Maria" or "Doctor's appointment tomorrow at ten." Everything was... managed. I felt as if I was a character in someone else's script.

I saw Celeste again three days after confirming the pregnancy.

She knocked on my door joyfully, unafraid to intrude.

"Hey! Can I come in?" she questioned.

I opened the door. She had bright eyes, soft curls, and a folder under her arm. She wore a gorgeous green dress and orange-colour heels, and this time, her smile seemed genuine.

"How are you doing?" she asked

I stepped aside to let her in. "I'm okay, I guess. Still getting used to everything."

"I bet," she confirmed with a laugh. "This place can feel like a museum at first."

She sat in the armchair by the window and crossed her legs casually. "I'm here to ask if you need anything. Clothes, books, snacks, just let me know."

Her warmth put me at ease. I finally felt I could breathe easier.

"Thanks," I said. "It's nice to talk to someone who's not wearing scrubs."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Celeste grinned.

We spoke for a while, then she told me about the garden paths I could walk if I felt restless, and that the chef would prepare anything I craved, as long as it was safe for the baby.

"Maria, I think you should know this, you're not a prisoner," she added with a wink. "You just have a very expensive bun in that incubator of yours". Everyone here is trying to make sure nothing goes wrong."

Her words made me laugh. I'm not a prisoner, and I haven't left the house, not even once.

That afternoon, I picked up the landline on the desk near the bed. It wasn't that I had someone in particular to call, I just dialled a random number to hear a voice on the other end. At least to know where the phone leads.

I pressed the buttons and listened to the dial tone, but no one picked up. Why was a phone kept here when it can't even be in use? I frowned and hung up. I tried again and still there was no receiver.

"Maybe it was a glitch". I thought aloud. I crossed the room to take my purse and dug out my cell phone. The battery was fully charged, but the signal bar was empty. I walked to the window, then the hallway, and even near the front door. Still no service.

My throat tightened.

I scrolled through my contacts, thinking I could send a text. *Just checking in,* I typed to my best friend Tasha. When I hit send, it just hovered there "Sending..." but never delivered.

I turned aeroplane mode and restarted the phone, but it didn't help.

I sat on the bed's edge, gripping the phone. "Why didn't I have signal? Why wasn't the landline working? I wasn't in the middle of nowhere. This was San Francisco where cell towers were practically on every corner". I lamented.

I realised I couldn't access the outside world and my eyes opened wide in shock.

I recalled Celeste's earlier words. "You're not a prisoner."

Aren't those the words someone would say if you were?

My once joyful routine now feels suffocating. The meals, walks, and checkups were all to control me. I believed earlier that I was being taken care of, but now I felt choked. It's enough that I can't go out of this mansion, but the call restrictions and all are far too much. Who I'm I to complain? I had signed up for this. Nine months and I'll have my life back.

After dinner, I heard the hum of a car engine outside. I looked through the curtains and saw a Range Rover pull into the driveway, and a tall man step out. It was Paul.

It was the first time I had seen him after the confirmation of my pregnancy.

I quickly smoothed my hair, though I wasn't sure why I did that. His calm and watchful demeanour unsettled me, making me think he was always calculating.

He knocked before entering. "Maria"

"You're back." I nodded

He entered, looked around, and focused on me.

"Is everything ok?"

I hesitated. "Mostly though... I tried making a phone call today."

"Did you?" he inquired.

"I couldn't use the landline, and my phone had no reception. Why was that?"

He moved closer and clasped his hands behind him. "You're safe here, Maria. That's all that matters."

"That doesn't answer my question," I queried.

His stare stiffened momentarily before he relaxed it again. This house has security measures, including signal blockers. Open phone lines and unmonitored calls pose too much risk, so we don't allow them.

"What do you mean by risk?" I questioned.

He ignored the question.

He approached the window, gazed outside briefly, then faced me again.

"I know this adjustment isn't easy," he confirmed. "But you're carrying something very valuable. I made a promise to protect you and the baby. Sometimes protection means limiting exposure. To the media, to strangers, to anything that could harm you."

"But I'm not trying to talk to the media," I oppose. "I just want to talk to my friend, I need to let her know that I'm fine".

Paul moved closer again. "This house," he repeated, "is the safest place for you... and the baby."

I nodded gradually while fear twisted in my chest.

He smiled, pleased with my silence, then left, and the door clicked shut.

I sat on the bed, thoughts swirling.

"Safe, Protected, Valuable". We'll see.