“Mom,” Jacob would interject, but it was never enough.
I would force a smile, ignoring the tightening in my chest.
Then, last Sunday, my father-in-law’s phone rang. When he excused himself to take the call, I overheard him speaking in fluent French, something I never expected from him.
I froze. My late stepfather had been from Paris, and French was a language I knew well. My in-laws didn’t know this. They had never asked about my past or the languages I spoke.
“Yes, she’s perfect,” Arnold said in French. “The medical results are excellent. She would be the perfect candidate. Young, healthy, and available. Yes, the next flight… Paris… I’ll handle the expenses. My son and daughter-in-law won’t know until later. It’s better this way.”
My hands trembled as I heard more details. The medical tests were complete, and arrangements were being made.
When Arnold returned, he calmly resumed his seat, hiding his nervousness behind his usual mask of composure. But Bessie, ever observant, raised an eyebrow. “Everything alright, dear?”
“Just an old friend,” Arnold replied smoothly.
I decided to confront him later. That night, I booked three tickets to Paris.
At 2 a.m., I was still awake, heart racing. “Jacob, your father was speaking French,” I told him. “I think he’s arranging a surrogate for us.”
He was shocked. “What? No, that can’t be true.”
But I had heard enough. I showed him the flight confirmations.
The next morning, we sat down with Arnold. I handed him the tickets and softly said, “I understand French, Arnold. I heard everything you said last night.”
His face drained of color. He stammered, then explained, “I didn’t think you’d want our help after everything… but seeing you both in pain, I couldn’t stand it. I arranged everything with a clinic in Paris. I know it doesn’t make up for the past, but I had to try.”
His words hit me harder than I expected. My father-in-law, the man who had always seemed so distant, was trying to help in his own way.
Later, in Paris, we met Emma, the young woman who had volunteered to be a surrogate. She was kind and compassionate, her smile warm as she welcomed us.
Arnold spoke to Bessie while we were there, and she surprised him by expressing regret for the way she had treated me. She said she wanted to be part of everything, even the contracts and procedures.
As we walked along the Seine, Arnold said, “Sometimes, we need to almost lose something to realize its worth.”
I nodded, feeling a deep sense of gratitude. “Thank you,” I whispered.
For the first time in years, I felt truly accepted by my family. The experience had changed us all, bringing us closer and teaching us about the true meaning of family.