Chapter 3 I'm Still Here

The morning sun poured gently through the window of the clinic guest suite, casting a soft glow across Maya's tired face. The scent of fresh flowers wafted through the air, mingling with the faint antiseptic smell of the clinic. Maya sat by the window, knees pulled to her chest, sipping warm herbal tea that tasted of chamomile and honey. Though her body was still recovering from the procedure, her mind was racing ahead. The child-Spencer's heir-could be growing inside her now. She should have felt something-excitement, fear, something sharp and undeniable. But what she felt most was distance.

Disconnection.

A soft knock came at the door. She turned. "Come in." Spencer stepped in, holding two cups of coffee that filled the room with a rich aroma. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, and Maya noticed the faint scent of his cologne, something woodsy and subtle. "Didn't know if you liked tea or coffee," he said, his voice low and smooth.

"I already had tea," she said softly, "but thanks." He placed one cup on the table, then sat in the chair opposite her. There was a quiet between them, the kind that only forms when two people know something big has just begun. Spencer's eyes locked onto hers, and Maya felt a shiver run down her spine. She couldn't quite read his expression, but it seemed like a mix of concern and determination.

"I wanted to ask you something," he said, tone calm but sincere. She nodded slowly. "Would you prefer to stay at one of my apartments for the next few months? Or the suite here? I've arranged both options. Safer, monitored, convenient." Maya looked at him and blinked. "No," she said. Spencer's brow lifted slightly. "No?"

"I want to stay in my house," she replied, her voice firm. Spencer leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Maya... The clinic said complete rest. No stress, no heavy activity-" "I can rest there," she interrupted. "That house is the only thing I have left. I don't want to leave it unless I'm forced to." Spencer stared at her, his eyes searching for something. Maybe understanding, maybe compliance.

"I didn't do this for a mansion or a free ride," she continued, voice steady. "I did this to save my home. So yes, I want to stay there." He nodded, slowly. "Okay." She was surprised. "You're agreeing?"

"I'm not your jailer," he said. "If staying there gives you peace, then that's what you should do." Maya felt a surge of gratitude, mixed with a dash of wariness. She didn't know what to make of Spencer's sudden understanding. "Thank you," she murmured. "And," he added, "I'll have someone check on you every couple of days. Quietly. Just in case." She smiled faintly. "Fine. As long as they don't act like bodyguards." Spencer smirked. "They won't."

Later that evening, Spencer drove through the winding roads to his parents' estate. The trees cast long shadows in the fading light, and the air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers. He hadn't seen his mother in weeks-not since the will discussion started. Part of him had avoided it, afraid of seeing disappointment in her eyes. But tonight, he needed her.

He found her in the rose garden, pruning dead petals off the white blooms. Delicate. Sharp. The sound of the shears snipping through the stems was soothing. "Spencer," she said softly when she saw him. "You came." "I needed air," he said. "And advice." She smiled knowingly. "Then you've come to the right woman."

They sat on the wooden bench under the rose arch, the scent of the flowers enveloping them. "I signed a contract," he began. "The surrogate's been implanted." His mother didn't speak for a moment. Then: "How do you feel?" "Like I just gave someone permission to carry my child, and I'm still not sure I'm doing the right thing." She looked over at him, her eyes filled with understanding.

"Do you trust her?" He hesitated. "Yes." "Do you think she'll love the child-even if it's only temporary?" He nodded. "I think she already does." His mother placed a hand over his. "Then it is the right decision. You're giving life-not stealing it." Spencer looked down, feeling a mix of emotions.

"She wants to stay in her own home," he said. "Good," his mother replied. "That means she's grounded." He chuckled under his breath. "I'm proud of you," she said. He met her eyes. "Why?"

"Because you didn't take the easy way out," his mother said, her voice filled with warmth and admiration. "You chose something hard. Something real. That's rare in this family." Spencer looked at her, feeling a sense of pride and validation. He knew his mother understood him in a way his father never would.

As they sat there, Spencer couldn't help but think about Maya and the child she would carry. He thought about the weight of responsibility he was taking on and the uncertainty that came with it. But with his mother's words still echoing in his mind, he felt a sense of determination wash over him. He would do this. He would be a good father, no matter what it took.

Back in her home, Maya curled up on the old couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looked around at the creaky floors and old frames on the walls, each one telling a story of its own. Every part of the house whispered her family's name. "I'm still here," she whispered back, her voice barely audible.

She placed a hand gently over her belly, feeling a sense of connection to the tiny life growing inside her. She was in her second week, and already she could feel the changes in her body. The fatigue, the mood swings, the constant awareness of the life inside her. It was overwhelming, but also exhilarating.

As she sat there, Maya felt a mix of emotions swirling inside her. There was excitement and anticipation, but also fear and uncertainty. What would the future hold? Would she be able to handle the responsibilities of motherhood? Would Spencer be a good father? So many questions, and no clear answers.

But for now, Maya just focused on the present. She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her decision settle onto her shoulders. She would do this. She would carry this child, and she would give it the best possible life. And as she sat there, surrounded by the familiar comforts of her home, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. She was doing this. She was taking control of her life, and she was going to make it work.

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