## Chapter 3: Two Mothers
Victoria was alone when Emma arrived the next morning.
No black dress.
No gold earrings.
No perfect posture.
She wore gray sweatpants and an oversized cream sweater.
Grace slept against her chest.
For the first time since Emma had met her, Victoria looked less like the woman whose photograph appeared beside charity galas in magazines and more like someone who had not slept.
“Coffee?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.”
They sat at the kitchen island.
Neither drank.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“Tell me why you did it.”
Emma knew what she meant.
“I needed money.”
Victoria looked up.
Emma continued.
“My mother was behind on her mortgage. My brother had just started college. I was working two jobs and still borrowing money for groceries.”
“You donated eggs to save your mother’s house?”
“Partly.”
“Did anyone pressure you?”
“No.”
“Did you understand what it meant?”
Emma thought about that.
“I understood the medical part.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No,” Emma said. “I don’t think I understood this part.”
Victoria glanced down at Grace.
“Neither did I.”
Emma waited.
Victoria slowly rubbed Grace’s back.
“When we chose an egg donor, I read hundreds of profiles.”
Emma listened.
“Hair color. Eye color. Education. Medical history. Music. Sports. Favorite books.”
A faint, humorless smile touched Victoria’s mouth.
“They made human beings look like catalogs.”
Emma had thought the same thing from the other side.
“My profile asked my favorite movie.”
“What did you write?”
“Roman Holiday.”
Victoria stared.
Then she laughed.
It was small but real.
“That’s why.”
“What?”
“I chose you.”
Emma froze.
Victoria’s eyes filled.
“The donor profile said Roman Holiday.”
Emma remembered filling out the form.
Favorite film?
She had almost written something impressive.
Instead, she wrote the movie her mother watched every Christmas.
Victoria smiled through tears.
“My mother loved that movie.”
The coincidence settled between them.
Two strangers.
Two daughters.
Two mothers.
One old film.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“I picked your profile because something about it felt familiar.”
Emma felt her throat tighten.
“Mrs. Hale…”
“Victoria.”
Emma nodded.
“Victoria.”
Grace stirred.
Both women instinctively leaned toward her.
Then they noticed.
For one strange second, they almost smiled.
Victoria looked away first.
“I hate this.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“Hate what?”
“That you know how she likes to be held.”
Emma stared at her.
“That you know which song calms her. That she reaches for you. That when she wakes from a nap, sometimes she looks for you before she looks for me.”
Emma felt pain rise.
“I’m her caregiver.”
“I know.”
Victoria pressed her lips together.
“And now I know you’re also…”
She could not finish.
Emma spoke gently.
“Biologically connected to her.”
Victoria nodded.
Emma leaned forward.
“But I am not replacing you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You don’t know what you’ll feel next year.”
“No. But I know what I feel today.”
Victoria looked at her.
Emma pointed gently toward Grace.
“When she cries at night, she wants you.”
Victoria blinked.
“When she hears your voice from another room, she turns toward it.”
A tear rolled down Victoria’s cheek.
“When you were in Boston for two days last month, she kept staring at the doorway every evening around six because that’s when you usually come home.”
Victoria covered her mouth.
Emma continued.
“She knows you.”
Grace stirred.
Victoria kissed her hair.
“She came from my body,” Victoria whispered.
“Yes.”
“But not from my egg.”
“No.”
“I keep thinking that should matter more than it did yesterday.”
Emma shook her head.
“Maybe it matters differently.”
Victoria studied her.
Emma struggled for the right words.
“DNA tells Grace where some pieces came from. It doesn’t tell her who sat beside her crib when she had a fever.”
Victoria looked down.
“It doesn’t tell her who was terrified during every ultrasound.”
Emma smiled sadly.
“It doesn’t tell her whose heartbeat she heard from inside the womb.”
Victoria began crying.
Quietly.
Emma stayed where she was.
She did not reach across the counter.
Some grief needed company more than comfort.
After several minutes, Victoria asked, “Do you want children?”
Emma was surprised.
“Someday.”
“Does knowing about Grace change that?”
“Yes.”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“Not the way you think.”
Emma took a breath.
“It makes everything less theoretical.”
Victoria nodded.
“What do you want from us?”
The question hung heavily.
“Nothing.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“A relationship with Grace?”
Emma paused.
“I already have one.”
Victoria flinched.
Emma immediately regretted the phrasing.
“I mean as her caregiver.”
“But now?”
Emma looked at Grace.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, she allowed herself to say the truth.
“I love her.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
Emma continued quickly.
“But loving someone doesn’t give you ownership.”
Victoria opened her eyes.
Emma held her gaze.
“You are her mother.”
Victoria whispered, “And what are you?”
Emma looked at the child whose genetics carried half of her blueprint but whose life had been built by someone else.
“I think that’s something we have to decide carefully.”
The kitchen door opened.
Adrian entered.
He stopped when he saw them sitting together.
Victoria’s face hardened.
Emma noticed immediately.
Whatever fragile bridge had formed between the two women did not include him yet.
Adrian placed another envelope on the counter.
“The clinic called.”
Victoria looked at it.
“What now?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“They want all three of us to sign confidentiality agreements.”
Emma stared at him.
Victoria gave a cold laugh.
“So they’re afraid.”
Adrian nodded.
“Yes.”
Victoria lifted Grace higher against her chest.
Then something changed in her expression.
Fear remained.
But beneath it was anger.
Focused anger.
“What are they afraid we’ll discover?”Victoria was alone when Emma arrived the next morning.
No black dress.
No gold earrings.
No perfect posture.
She wore gray sweatpants and an oversized cream sweater.
Grace slept against her chest.
For the first time since Emma had met her, Victoria looked less like the woman whose photograph appeared beside charity galas in magazines and more like someone who had not slept.
“Coffee?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.”
They sat at the kitchen island.
Neither drank.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“Tell me why you did it.”
Emma knew what she meant.
“I needed money.”
Victoria looked up.
Emma continued.
“My mother was behind on her mortgage. My brother had just started college. I was working two jobs and still borrowing money for groceries.”
“You donated eggs to save your mother’s house?”
“Partly.”
“Did anyone pressure you?”
“No.”
“Did you understand what it meant?”
Emma thought about that.
“I understood the medical part.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No,” Emma said. “I don’t think I understood this part.”
Victoria glanced down at Grace.
“Neither did I.”
Emma waited.
Victoria slowly rubbed Grace’s back.
“When we chose an egg donor, I read hundreds of profiles.”
Emma listened.
“Hair color. Eye color. Education. Medical history. Music. Sports. Favorite books.”
A faint, humorless smile touched Victoria’s mouth.
“They made human beings look like catalogs.”
Emma had thought the same thing from the other side.
“My profile asked my favorite movie.”
“What did you write?”
“Roman Holiday.”
Victoria stared.
Then she laughed.
It was small but real.
“That’s why.”
“What?”
“I chose you.”
Emma froze.
Victoria’s eyes filled.
“The donor profile said Roman Holiday.”
Emma remembered filling out the form.
Favorite film?
She had almost written something impressive.
Instead, she wrote the movie her mother watched every Christmas.
Victoria smiled through tears.
“My mother loved that movie.”
The coincidence settled between them.
Two strangers.
Two daughters.
Two mothers.
One old film.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“I picked your profile because something about it felt familiar.”
Emma felt her throat tighten.
“Mrs. Hale…”
“Victoria.”
Emma nodded.
“Victoria.”
Grace stirred.
Both women instinctively leaned toward her.
Then they noticed.
For one strange second, they almost smiled.
Victoria looked away first.
“I hate this.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“Hate what?”
“That you know how she likes to be held.”
Emma stared at her.
“That you know which song calms her. That she reaches for you. That when she wakes from a nap, sometimes she looks for you before she looks for me.”
Emma felt pain rise.
“I’m her caregiver.”
“I know.”
Victoria pressed her lips together.
“And now I know you’re also…”
She could not finish.
Emma spoke gently.
“Biologically connected to her.”
Victoria nodded.
Emma leaned forward.
“But I am not replacing you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You don’t know what you’ll feel next year.”
“No. But I know what I feel today.”
Victoria looked at her.
Emma pointed gently toward Grace.
“When she cries at night, she wants you.”
Victoria blinked.
“When she hears your voice from another room, she turns toward it.”
A tear rolled down Victoria’s cheek.
“When you were in Boston for two days last month, she kept staring at the doorway every evening around six because that’s when you usually come home.”
Victoria covered her mouth.
Emma continued.
“She knows you.”
Grace stirred.
Victoria kissed her hair.
“She came from my body,” Victoria whispered.
“Yes.”
“But not from my egg.”
“No.”
“I keep thinking that should matter more than it did yesterday.”
Emma shook her head.
“Maybe it matters differently.”
Victoria studied her.
Emma struggled for the right words.
“DNA tells Grace where some pieces came from. It doesn’t tell her who sat beside her crib when she had a fever.”
Victoria looked down.
“It doesn’t tell her who was terrified during every ultrasound.”
Emma smiled sadly.
“It doesn’t tell her whose heartbeat she heard from inside the womb.”
Victoria began crying.
Quietly.
Emma stayed where she was.
She did not reach across the counter.
Some grief needed company more than comfort.
After several minutes, Victoria asked, “Do you want children?”
Emma was surprised.
“Someday.”
“Does knowing about Grace change that?”
“Yes.”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“Not the way you think.”
Emma took a breath.
“It makes everything less theoretical.”
Victoria nodded.
“What do you want from us?”
The question hung heavily.
“Nothing.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“A relationship with Grace?”
Emma paused.
“I already have one.”
Victoria flinched.
Emma immediately regretted the phrasing.
“I mean as her caregiver.”
“But now?”
Emma looked at Grace.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, she allowed herself to say the truth.
“I love her.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
Emma continued quickly.
“But loving someone doesn’t give you ownership.”
Victoria opened her eyes.
Emma held her gaze.
“You are her mother.”
Victoria whispered, “And what are you?”
Emma looked at the child whose genetics carried half of her blueprint but whose life had been built by someone else.
“I think that’s something we have to decide carefully.”
The kitchen door opened.
Adrian entered.
He stopped when he saw them sitting together.
Victoria’s face hardened.
Emma noticed immediately.
Whatever fragile bridge had formed between the two women did not include him yet.
Adrian placed another envelope on the counter.
“The clinic called.”
Victoria looked at it.
“What now?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“They want all three of us to sign confidentiality agreements.”
Emma stared at him.
Victoria gave a cold laugh.
“So they’re afraid.”
Adrian nodded.
“Yes.”
Victoria lifted Grace higher against her chest.
Then something changed in her expression.
Fear remained.
But beneath it was anger.
Focused anger.
“What are they afraid we’ll discover?”Victoria was alone when Emma arrived the next morning.
No black dress.
No gold earrings.
No perfect posture.
She wore gray sweatpants and an oversized cream sweater.
Grace slept against her chest.
For the first time since Emma had met her, Victoria looked less like the woman whose photograph appeared beside charity galas in magazines and more like someone who had not slept.
“Coffee?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.”
They sat at the kitchen island.
Neither drank.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“Tell me why you did it.”
Emma knew what she meant.
“I needed money.”
Victoria looked up.
Emma continued.
“My mother was behind on her mortgage. My brother had just started college. I was working two jobs and still borrowing money for groceries.”
“You donated eggs to save your mother’s house?”
“Partly.”
“Did anyone pressure you?”
“No.”
“Did you understand what it meant?”
Emma thought about that.
“I understood the medical part.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No,” Emma said. “I don’t think I understood this part.”
Victoria glanced down at Grace.
“Neither did I.”
Emma waited.
Victoria slowly rubbed Grace’s back.
“When we chose an egg donor, I read hundreds of profiles.”
Emma listened.
“Hair color. Eye color. Education. Medical history. Music. Sports. Favorite books.”
A faint, humorless smile touched Victoria’s mouth.
“They made human beings look like catalogs.”
Emma had thought the same thing from the other side.
“My profile asked my favorite movie.”
“What did you write?”
“Roman Holiday.”
Victoria stared.
Then she laughed.
It was small but real.
“That’s why.”
“What?”
“I chose you.”
Emma froze.
Victoria’s eyes filled.
“The donor profile said Roman Holiday.”
Emma remembered filling out the form.
Favorite film?
She had almost written something impressive.
Instead, she wrote the movie her mother watched every Christmas.
Victoria smiled through tears.
“My mother loved that movie.”
The coincidence settled between them.
Two strangers.
Two daughters.
Two mothers.
One old film.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“I picked your profile because something about it felt familiar.”
Emma felt her throat tighten.
“Mrs. Hale…”
“Victoria.”
Emma nodded.
“Victoria.”
Grace stirred.
Both women instinctively leaned toward her.
Then they noticed.
For one strange second, they almost smiled.
Victoria looked away first.
“I hate this.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“Hate what?”
“That you know how she likes to be held.”
Emma stared at her.
“That you know which song calms her. That she reaches for you. That when she wakes from a nap, sometimes she looks for you before she looks for me.”
Emma felt pain rise.
“I’m her caregiver.”
“I know.”
Victoria pressed her lips together.
“And now I know you’re also…”
She could not finish.
Emma spoke gently.
“Biologically connected to her.”
Victoria nodded.
Emma leaned forward.
“But I am not replacing you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You don’t know what you’ll feel next year.”
“No. But I know what I feel today.”
Victoria looked at her.
Emma pointed gently toward Grace.
“When she cries at night, she wants you.”
Victoria blinked.
“When she hears your voice from another room, she turns toward it.”
A tear rolled down Victoria’s cheek.
“When you were in Boston for two days last month, she kept staring at the doorway every evening around six because that’s when you usually come home.”
Victoria covered her mouth.
Emma continued.
“She knows you.”
Grace stirred.
Victoria kissed her hair.
“She came from my body,” Victoria whispered.
“Yes.”
“But not from my egg.”
“No.”
“I keep thinking that should matter more than it did yesterday.”
Emma shook her head.
“Maybe it matters differently.”
Victoria studied her.
Emma struggled for the right words.
“DNA tells Grace where some pieces came from. It doesn’t tell her who sat beside her crib when she had a fever.”
Victoria looked down.
“It doesn’t tell her who was terrified during every ultrasound.”
Emma smiled sadly.
“It doesn’t tell her whose heartbeat she heard from inside the womb.”
Victoria began crying.
Quietly.
Emma stayed where she was.
She did not reach across the counter.
Some grief needed company more than comfort.
After several minutes, Victoria asked, “Do you want children?”
Emma was surprised.
“Someday.”
“Does knowing about Grace change that?”
“Yes.”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“Not the way you think.”
Emma took a breath.
“It makes everything less theoretical.”
Victoria nodded.
“What do you want from us?”
The question hung heavily.
“Nothing.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“A relationship with Grace?”
Emma paused.
“I already have one.”
Victoria flinched.
Emma immediately regretted the phrasing.
“I mean as her caregiver.”
“But now?”
Emma looked at Grace.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, she allowed herself to say the truth.
“I love her.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
Emma continued quickly.
“But loving someone doesn’t give you ownership.”
Victoria opened her eyes.
Emma held her gaze.
“You are her mother.”
Victoria whispered, “And what are you?”
Emma looked at the child whose genetics carried half of her blueprint but whose life had been built by someone else.
“I think that’s something we have to decide carefully.”
The kitchen door opened.
Adrian entered.
He stopped when he saw them sitting together.
Victoria’s face hardened.
Emma noticed immediately.
Whatever fragile bridge had formed between the two women did not include him yet.
Adrian placed another envelope on the counter.
“The clinic called.”
Victoria looked at it.
“What now?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“They want all three of us to sign confidentiality agreements.”
Emma stared at him.
Victoria gave a cold laugh.
“So they’re afraid.”
Adrian nodded.
“Yes.”
Victoria lifted Grace higher against her chest.
Then something changed in her expression.
Fear remained.
But beneath it was anger.
Focused anger.
“What are they afraid we’ll discover?”Victoria was alone when Emma arrived the next morning.
No black dress.
No gold earrings.
No perfect posture.
She wore gray sweatpants and an oversized cream sweater.
Grace slept against her chest.
For the first time since Emma had met her, Victoria looked less like the woman whose photograph appeared beside charity galas in magazines and more like someone who had not slept.
“Coffee?” Victoria asked.
“Yes.”
They sat at the kitchen island.
Neither drank.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“Tell me why you did it.”
Emma knew what she meant.
“I needed money.”
Victoria looked up.
Emma continued.
“My mother was behind on her mortgage. My brother had just started college. I was working two jobs and still borrowing money for groceries.”
“You donated eggs to save your mother’s house?”
“Partly.”
“Did anyone pressure you?”
“No.”
“Did you understand what it meant?”
Emma thought about that.
“I understood the medical part.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No,” Emma said. “I don’t think I understood this part.”
Victoria glanced down at Grace.
“Neither did I.”
Emma waited.
Victoria slowly rubbed Grace’s back.
“When we chose an egg donor, I read hundreds of profiles.”
Emma listened.
“Hair color. Eye color. Education. Medical history. Music. Sports. Favorite books.”
A faint, humorless smile touched Victoria’s mouth.
“They made human beings look like catalogs.”
Emma had thought the same thing from the other side.
“My profile asked my favorite movie.”
“What did you write?”
“Roman Holiday.”
Victoria stared.
Then she laughed.
It was small but real.
“That’s why.”
“What?”
“I chose you.”
Emma froze.
Victoria’s eyes filled.
“The donor profile said Roman Holiday.”
Emma remembered filling out the form.
Favorite film?
She had almost written something impressive.
Instead, she wrote the movie her mother watched every Christmas.
Victoria smiled through tears.
“My mother loved that movie.”
The coincidence settled between them.
Two strangers.
Two daughters.
Two mothers.
One old film.
Victoria looked at Grace.
“I picked your profile because something about it felt familiar.”
Emma felt her throat tighten.
“Mrs. Hale…”
“Victoria.”
Emma nodded.
“Victoria.”
Grace stirred.
Both women instinctively leaned toward her.
Then they noticed.
For one strange second, they almost smiled.
Victoria looked away first.
“I hate this.”
Emma’s stomach tightened.
“Hate what?”
“That you know how she likes to be held.”
Emma stared at her.
“That you know which song calms her. That she reaches for you. That when she wakes from a nap, sometimes she looks for you before she looks for me.”
Emma felt pain rise.
“I’m her caregiver.”
“I know.”
Victoria pressed her lips together.
“And now I know you’re also…”
She could not finish.
Emma spoke gently.
“Biologically connected to her.”
Victoria nodded.
Emma leaned forward.
“But I am not replacing you.”
“You can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can.”
“You don’t know what you’ll feel next year.”
“No. But I know what I feel today.”
Victoria looked at her.
Emma pointed gently toward Grace.
“When she cries at night, she wants you.”
Victoria blinked.
“When she hears your voice from another room, she turns toward it.”
A tear rolled down Victoria’s cheek.
“When you were in Boston for two days last month, she kept staring at the doorway every evening around six because that’s when you usually come home.”
Victoria covered her mouth.
Emma continued.
“She knows you.”
Grace stirred.
Victoria kissed her hair.
“She came from my body,” Victoria whispered.
“Yes.”
“But not from my egg.”
“No.”
“I keep thinking that should matter more than it did yesterday.”
Emma shook her head.
“Maybe it matters differently.”
Victoria studied her.
Emma struggled for the right words.
“DNA tells Grace where some pieces came from. It doesn’t tell her who sat beside her crib when she had a fever.”
Victoria looked down.
“It doesn’t tell her who was terrified during every ultrasound.”
Emma smiled sadly.
“It doesn’t tell her whose heartbeat she heard from inside the womb.”
Victoria began crying.
Quietly.
Emma stayed where she was.
She did not reach across the counter.
Some grief needed company more than comfort.
After several minutes, Victoria asked, “Do you want children?”
Emma was surprised.
“Someday.”
“Does knowing about Grace change that?”
“Yes.”
Victoria’s face tightened.
“Not the way you think.”
Emma took a breath.
“It makes everything less theoretical.”
Victoria nodded.
“What do you want from us?”
The question hung heavily.
“Nothing.”
“Money?”
“No.”
“A relationship with Grace?”
Emma paused.
“I already have one.”
Victoria flinched.
Emma immediately regretted the phrasing.
“I mean as her caregiver.”
“But now?”
Emma looked at Grace.
“I don’t know.”
For the first time, she allowed herself to say the truth.
“I love her.”
Victoria closed her eyes.
Emma continued quickly.
“But loving someone doesn’t give you ownership.”
Victoria opened her eyes.
Emma held her gaze.
“You are her mother.”
Victoria whispered, “And what are you?”
Emma looked at the child whose genetics carried half of her blueprint but whose life had been built by someone else.
“I think that’s something we have to decide carefully.”
The kitchen door opened.
Adrian entered.
He stopped when he saw them sitting together.
Victoria’s face hardened.
Emma noticed immediately.
Whatever fragile bridge had formed between the two women did not include him yet.
Adrian placed another envelope on the counter.
“The clinic called.”
Victoria looked at it.
“What now?”
Adrian’s jaw tightened.
“They want all three of us to sign confidentiality agreements.”
Emma stared at him.
Victoria gave a cold laugh.
“So they’re afraid.”
Adrian nodded.
“Yes.”
Victoria lifted Grace higher against her chest.
Then something changed in her expression.
Fear remained.
But beneath it was anger.
May you like
Focused anger.
“What are they afraid we’ll discover?”
