My mother needed me. And I needed $2 million. Desperation makes monsters of us all.
The memories came in a cascade the next morning, triggered by nothing and everything. Elara was making breakfast—pancakes again, Leo's favorite—when her hands stilled on the spatula.
And suddenly she was somewhere else entirely.
FLASHBACK: THREE YEARS AGO
The hospital room smelled like antiseptic and death.
Elara sat beside her mother's bed, holding a hand that had grown too thin, too fragile. Catherine Hart had been a force of nature once—vibrant, strong, unbreakable. Now she was translucent skin over bird bones, her breath rattling in lungs that were slowly failing.
"The treatment," her mother whispered, her voice barely audible. "Dr. Morrison said there's a new trial. Experimental. It could work."
"I know, Mom." Elara's throat was tight. "I've been looking into it."
"But the cost—"
"Don't worry about the cost." A lie. She was drowning in worry about the cost.
Dr. Morrison had been blunt: $2.3 million for the experimental treatment. Not covered by insurance. Not covered by Medicare. Not covered by any safety net designed to catch people falling through the cracks.
Pay out of pocket or watch your mother die.
Simple. Brutal. Impossible.
After leaving the hospital that day, Elara had gone home to her tiny apartment and checked her bank account with hands that shook.
$1,847.23
Her life savings. Everything she had after paying rent, utilities, her mother's current medical bills. Not even enough for a week of the treatment, let alone the full protocol.
She'd spent three days calling everyone she could think of. Banks for loans—denied, insufficient collateral. Crowdfunding sites—raised $3,200, a drop in an ocean. Family—nonexistent or broke themselves. Friends—sympathetic but equally helpless.
On the fourth day, desperate and exhausted, she'd done something she swore she'd never do.
She'd searched: How to make money fast. Emergency. Legal.
The results were depressing. Sell plasma. Participate in drug trials. Nothing that would generate the kind of money she needed in the timeframe she had.
And then, buried on the third page of results, a classified ad that made her breath stop:
SURROGATE NEEDED. $2M COMPENSATION. DISCRETION REQUIRED.
Two million dollars.
Exactly—almost exactly—what she needed.
Her hands had shaken as she read the details. Gestational surrogacy. Healthy female, age 25-35, no genetic conditions, willing to carry to term and relinquish all parental rights upon birth.
Confidential arrangement. Substantial compensation. Immediate need.
Contact: [law firm name and number]
She'd stared at that ad for three hours. Told herself it was insane. Told herself she couldn't possibly. Told herself there had to be another way.
But there wasn't another way. And her mother was dying.
So she'd picked up her phone with trembling hands and dialed the number.
The lawyer's office was in a building so expensive Elara felt like an imposter just walking through the door.
Chrome and glass and cold, artificial light. Everything designed to intimidate. To remind her that she was small and powerless and here only because someone with money had summoned her.
"Ms. Hart?" A woman in a severe suit appeared. "This way, please."
The conference room was worse. Long table. Leather chairs. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city she couldn't afford to live in properly.
And the lawyer—Mr. Reynolds, he'd introduced himself—with a stack of documents that seemed designed to bury her.
"Thank you for coming," he'd said, not sounding thankful at all. "My client has reviewed your preliminary information and would like to proceed. However, before we continue, I need to be very clear about the terms."
"Okay." Her voice had come out small.
"Mr. Vance requires complete confidentiality. You will sign a comprehensive non-disclosure agreement. You will not discuss this arrangement with anyone. You will not attempt to contact Mr. Vance outside of scheduled medical appointments. Upon birth, you will relinquish all parental rights immediately and permanently."
Each word was a nail in a coffin she was building for herself.
"The compensation is two million dollars, paid in two installments. One million upon confirmed pregnancy. One million upon successful delivery and signed relinquishment."
"What if—" Elara had to force the words out. "What if something goes wrong? Medical complications?"
"All medical expenses will be covered by Mr. Vance. However, if the pregnancy fails to result in a live birth, the second million will not be paid. You will keep the first million already received."
So she'd be risking her body, her health, her future ability to have children—for potentially only one million. Still not quite enough.
"And if I change my mind? After the baby is born?"
Mr. Reynolds's expression had been pitying. "The contract is ironclad, Ms. Hart. You will have no legal claim to the child. Attempting to breach the agreement will result in lawsuits that will bankrupt you. Do you understand?"
She'd understood. Understood she was signing away a piece of her soul. Understood she'd carry a child for nine months and then hand him over like a package. Understood she'd be erasing herself from his life before it even began.
"I understand."
"Excellent. Let's review the medical requirements..."
The rest of that meeting was a blur. Blood tests. Fertility screenings. Psychological evaluations. They'd examined her like livestock, determining her worth as a breeding vessel.
And at the end, they'd placed the contract in front of her.
Forty pages of legal language that reduced pregnancy to commerce and motherhood to transaction.
Her hand had shaken as she signed. But she'd signed anyway.
Because her mother was dying. And two million dollars was life. And Elara had no other choice.
Desperation makes monsters of us all.
PRESENT DAY
Elara came back to herself gasping, the spatula clattering from her numb fingers.
Leo looked up from his cereal. "Mama? You okay?"
"I'm—" She wasn't okay. She was drowning in memories of her own desperation, her own choices, her own monstrosity. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Just... tired."
But she wasn't fine.
She understood now. Understood herself in a way she hadn't before. She hadn't been an innocent victim caught in Kairos's web. She'd walked into that lawyer's office with open eyes. She'd read every page of that contract. She'd known exactly what she was signing.
And she'd signed anyway.
Because desperation doesn't leave room for dignity. Because love for her dying mother outweighed love for an unborn child she'd never met. Because sometimes there are no good choices, only terrible ones with different consequences.
Kairos hadn't stolen her agency. He'd provided an option when she had none. An ugly option. An exploitative option. But an option nonetheless.
And she'd taken it.
"Elara?"
She looked up to find Kairos in the kitchen doorway, his expression concerned. "You're pale. What happened?"
"I remembered." Her voice was hollow. "The ad. The lawyer's office. Signing the contract."
His face went carefully neutral. "All of it?"
"All of it." She turned off the stove, no longer capable of cooking. "I remembered why I did it. Why I agreed."
"Your mother."
"My mother." Elara wrapped her arms around herself. "She was dying. Terminal cancer. The experimental treatment was her only chance and it cost—" Her voice broke. "It cost exactly what you were offering."
Kairos moved into the room slowly. "I know."
"You knew then too, didn't you? When you wrote the contract. You calculated exactly what would make me say yes."
"Yes." No hesitation. Just that brutal honesty she'd started to expect from him. "My lawyers researched you thoroughly. Found out about your mother's diagnosis, the treatment costs, your financial situation. The compensation was designed to be exactly enough."
"So you preyed on my desperation."
"Yes." He moved closer, not touching but near enough she felt his presence. "I did. And there's no justification that makes that okay. I saw a vulnerable woman and I used her vulnerability to get what I wanted."
Elara looked at him—this honest, self-aware, unrepentant man. "I'm not innocent in this. I chose to sign. Chose to become a surrogate. Chose to carry your child for money."
"You chose survival. That's not the same as choosing exploitation."
"Isn't it?" She laughed bitterly. "I sold my womb. Sold nine months of my life. Sold a child I'd never met. All for money. That makes me complicit."
"That makes you human." Kairos's voice was gentle. "Desperate people make desperate choices. That doesn't make them monsters."
But she felt like a monster. Felt like she'd been one all along, not just Kairos.
"My mother," she said suddenly, the question forming as the memory demanded answers. "What happened to her? The treatment—did it work?"
Kairos went very still. The kind of stillness that preceded devastating news.
"Tell me," Elara demanded.
"She died." His voice was quiet, careful. "Six months into your pregnancy. The treatment didn't work. By month four, the doctors said it was too late. That the cancer had spread too far. She passed peacefully. You were with her."
The words didn't land at first. Just hovered in the air, impossible to absorb.
Her mother was dead.
Had been dead for years.
The treatment hadn't worked.
"So I did this for nothing." Elara's voice was hollow, distant. "I sold myself for nothing. Became a surrogate for nothing. Carried your child and signed away my rights and destroyed myself for a treatment that didn't even work."
"Elara—"
"I gave up everything." Her voice was rising now, hysteria creeping in at the edges. "My dignity, my body, my child, my future—all of it for a mother who died anyway. For a treatment that failed. For nothing."
"It wasn't for nothing." Kairos reached for her. "You tried. You did everything you could to save her. That matters."
"Don't touch me." She jerked away from his outstretched hand, backing toward the counter. "Don't you dare touch me right now."
"Okay." He dropped his hands immediately. "Okay. I won't. Just—please, let me—"
"Let you what?" She was openly crying now, tears streaming down her face without restraint. "Let you comfort me? Let you tell me it's okay? It's not okay! None of this is okay!"
"I know—"
"My mother died thinking I'd abandoned her! I was so wrapped up in your contract, in being pregnant, in following all your rules that I barely saw her those last months. And then she was gone. And I—" Her voice broke completely. "I never got to tell her I was sorry. Never got to explain why I'd pulled away. Never got to say goodbye properly because I was too busy being your surrogate!"
The accusation hung between them, sharp and true and devastating.
"You were with her when she passed," Kairos said quietly. "I remember. You were at the hospital for three days straight. You held her hand. You told her you loved her. You—"
"I don't remember that!" The scream ripped from Elara's throat. "I don't remember saying goodbye! Don't remember being there! All I remember is signing that fucking contract and hating myself for it!"
Leo appeared in the doorway, drawn by the raised voices. "Mama? Why are you sad?"
The sight of him—this innocent child caught in the crossfire of adult devastation—made something crack in Elara's chest.
She'd given up everything for him. For money that bought a treatment that failed. For a mother she'd lost anyway. For a child she'd been forced to abandon.
And now here he was, looking at her with worried eyes, calling her Mama, not knowing she'd signed away the right to that title before he was even born.
"I'm okay, sweetheart," she managed, her voice thick with tears. "Mama's just... having a hard day."
"You're crying." His small face crumpled. "Don't cry, Mama. Please don't cry."
Kairos moved then, scooping Leo into his arms. "Hey, buddy. How about you go watch cartoons for a bit? Mama and Daddy need to talk."
"But Mama's sad—"
"I know. And we're going to help her feel better. But we need a few minutes alone, okay?"
Leo looked uncertain but nodded. Kairos carried him to the living room, settled him with the TV remote, and returned to find Elara collapsed against the counter, her body shaking with sobs.
"She died for nothing," Elara whispered. "I sacrificed everything and she died anyway. What was the point? What was any of it for?"
Kairos stood a careful distance away, respecting her request not to touch but clearly wanting to. "She died knowing you loved her. That you'd tried everything to save her. That matters, Elara. That love matters."
"Love wasn't enough." She looked at him with devastated eyes. "Love didn't save her. Love didn't save me. Love didn't save anything."
"No," he agreed quietly. "Sometimes it's not. Sometimes we love with everything we have and it's still not enough. But that doesn't make the love meaningless. Just... tragic."
She wanted to argue. Wanted to rage against the unfairness of it all. Wanted to blame him for seeing her desperation and using it, for offering her hope that turned to ash.
But what good would it do?
Her mother was gone. Had been gone for years. And all the anger in the world wouldn't bring her back.
"I need you to leave," Elara said finally, her voice empty. "I need to be alone right now."
"Elara, please—"
"Go." She looked at him, this man who'd been part of her tragedy but not its author. "Just... go. I can't do this right now."
He hesitated, clearly torn. Then nodded. "I'll take Leo out. Give you space. But I'm here when you're ready. Whenever you're ready."
He left her there in the kitchen, surrounded by the ruins of the breakfast she'd started and the life she'd tried to build and the past she couldn't escape.
And Elara slid down to the floor, her back against the cabinets, and let herself break completely.
For her mother, who'd died believing medicine could save her.
For herself, who'd sold her body for nothing.
For the child she'd carried and lost and somehow found again.
For all of them, caught in the machinery of desperation and love and choices that destroyed as much as they saved.
Desperation makes monsters of us all.
And she'd been a monster right alongside Kairos.
She just hadn't remembered it until now.