TRUTH #3
“I’m pregnant with twins,” I said, the words feeling surreal even as I spoke them.
“High-risk. I need a complete examination, independent genetic testing, and copies of all my fertility records from my previous provider once you receive them. If you send me the release I can sign it electronically.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line.
“That’s quite a bit,” Celeste said carefully. “And do you have insurance, or will this be—”
“Self-pay,” I said quickly. “I’ll pay out of pocket for everything.”
Another pause.
“Ms. Renois, I want to make sure you understand—high-risk obstetrics can be expensive, especially with twins. Are you sure—”
“I’m sure.”
I pulled up my phone with my free hand and scrolled through my photos until I found it.
The picture I’d taken at the mall weeks ago when Amai had handed me his black card to pay for the maternity clothes.
I’d snapped a photo of the front and back while he wasn’t looking—just the card number, expiration date, and CVV code visible in the frame.
At the time, I told myself it was just in case. Just a backup plan.
Phillip had taught me that lesson the hard way. Always have a backup plan. Always protect yourself. Because the moment you think someone has your back, they’ll stab you in it.
I hadn’t planned on using it.
But fuck it.
Amai owed me this. He owed me so much more than this.
“I have the payment information ready,” I said, my voice firm. “Can we schedule the appointment?”
“Of course. Let me see what Dr. Broussard has available.” More typing. “How does tomorrow at 10 a.m. sound?”
“Perfect.”
“Great. I’ll need the card information to hold the appointment and process the initial consultation fee.”
I read off the numbers from the photo, my voice steady, my hands surprisingly calm.
Celeste confirmed the details, and I heard the faint sound of a transaction processing.
“All set,” she said. “You’re confirmed for tomorrow at 10 a.m. Dr. Broussard will see you then.”
“Wait,” I said before she could hang up. “I need to make sure of a few things.”
“Of course. What do you need?”
I took a breath, steadying myself. “I need written confirmation that no information about me, my pregnancy, or my medical records will be released to anyone without my explicit permission.”
There was a beat of silence.
“Ms. Renois,” Celeste said slowly, “are you in a safe situation?”
The question caught me off guard.
Was I?
I thought about Amai. About the way he’d looked at me in that clinic. About the way he’d tried to follow me, tried to explain, tried to keep me close.
I thought about Kaisen. About the lies. About the manipulation.
I thought about Winston walking into that exam room with Yahmaria on his arm like some kind of fucked-up power play.
“I don’t know,” I admitted quietly. “But I’m trying to be.”
“Okay.” Celeste’s voice softened. “I’m going to make a note in your file that all communication goes through you directly. No one else. And I’ll let Dr. Broussard know about your requests. She’ll make sure everything is handled with complete confidentiality.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. We’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Renois. And if you need anything before then—if you feel unsafe or need resources—please call us. We’re here to help.”
I hung up and sat there for a moment, staring at the phone in my hand.
One step down.
But I wasn’t done yet.
I scrolled through my contacts until I found the name I was looking for.
Simone Brown, Esq.
The attorney who’d been assigned to protect my interests under the surrogacy contract. The one Amai had explicitly outline in the contract, back when this was supposed to be simple. Back when I was supposed to be nothing more than a surrogate. Back before everything got so fucking complicated.
I’d only spoken to her once just to introduce myself in the beginning.
I dialed her number.
She answered on the second ring.
“Ms. Brown speaking.”
“Hi, this is Truth Renois. We spoke a few months ago about the surrogacy contract with Amai Landry.”
“Of course, Ms. Renois. How can I help you?”
I closed my eyes and forced myself to say the words.
“I need to invoke the protection clauses in the contract. Effective immediately, all communication between me and Amai Landry—or anyone in the Landry family—needs to go through you. Legal channels only. No direct contact unless I initiate it.”
There was a pause.
“Ms. Renois, has something happened? Are you safe?”
Why did everyone keep asking me that?
“I’m safe,” I said, though I wasn’t sure I believed it. “But the situation has changed. I found out today that I’m carrying twins. And I found out that Amai is married. And I found out that his brother’s sperm was also used in the procedure without my knowledge or consent.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Yeah.”
I heard her exhale sharply. “Okay. Okay, we need to move quickly. I’m going to file an emergency motion to enforce the contract’s confidentiality and autonomy clauses.
That means the Landrys can’t make any decisions about your medical care, your pregnancy, or your living situation without your explicit consent. And all communication goes through me.”
“Good.”
“I’ll also need to know—do you feel threatened? Do you need a restraining order?”
I thought about Amai’s face when I’d told him I was done. The way his jaw had tightened. The way his eyes had darkened.
But he hadn’t tried to stop me.
He’d let me leave.
“Not yet,” I said. “But I want the option if I need it.”
“Understood. I’ll have the paperwork ready by end of day tomorrow. In the meantime, do not engage with any member of the Landry family. If they contact you, refer them to me. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“Good. And Ms. Renois?”
“Yeah?”
“You did the right thing calling me. A lot of women in your position wouldn’t have. You’re protecting yourself and your children. That takes strength.”
I felt my throat constrict.
“Thank you.”
I hung up and sat there on the edge of my bed, staring at the wall.
Two calls down.
Two steps toward taking back control.
But the weight of it all was starting to press down on me—the twins, the betrayal, the uncertainty of what came next.
And then, without warning, the tears came.
Not the angry tears from earlier. Not the frustrated tears or the shocked tears.
These were different.
These were the tears I’d been holding back since the moment Winston walked into that exam room.
Since the moment I realized Amai had been lying to me.
Since the moment I understood that I was alone in this.
I pressed my hands to my face and let myself cry—deep, shaking sobs that tore through my chest and left me gasping for air.
I cried because I’d fallen for him.
I cried because part of me still loved him, even now, even after everything.
I cried because I’d wanted this—wanted a family, wanted a partner, wanted someone to build a life with.
And I cried because I was going to be a single mother.
Just like my mama.
I thought about her—about the way she’d raised us alone after our father died. About the way she’d worked two jobs and still couldn’t make ends meet. About the way she’d sacrificed everything for us and still felt like it wasn’t enough.
I’d watched her struggle my entire life.
I’d watched her cry when the bills piled up. I’d watched her skip meals so we could eat. I’d watched her age faster than she should have because the weight of raising four daughters alone had broken something inside her.
And I’d promised myself I would never be in that position.
I’d promised myself I’d choose better. I’d build better. I’d be better.
But here I was.
Pregnant with twins.
Alone.
Betrayed by the man I’d started to love.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and took a shaky breath.
No.
I wasn’t going to let this break me.
I wasn’t going to let this define me.
I was going to be a single mother—but I was going to do it differently.
I was going to finish my degree. I was going to build a career. I was going to give my children stability and security and a life where they didn’t have to watch their mother struggle.
I was going to break the generational curse.
I grabbed my phone again and scrolled through my contacts until I found the number for my college counselor.
Ms. Patricia Nguyen - Academic Advising
I dialed before I could second-guess myself.
The phone rang three times before she answered.
“Academic Advising, this is Patricia.”
“Hi, Ms. Patricia. This is Truth Renois. I was a nursing student before I had to withdraw last year.”
“Truth! Oh, my goodness, how are you? I’ve been wondering about you.”
Her warmth caught me off guard.
“I’m okay,” I said, though it felt like a lie. “I’m calling because I want to come back. I want to finish my degree.”
“That’s wonderful! I’m so glad to hear that. Let me pull up your file.” I heard the sound of typing. “Okay, I’ve got you here. It looks like you withdrew with good academic standing. You were only a few classes away from starting clinicals.”
“How many classes?”
“Let’s see… you need Pharmacology, Advanced Health Assessment, and Pathophysiology. That’s it. Three classes, and you’re eligible to start clinicals the following semester.”
Three classes.
That was all that stood between me and my future.
“Can I register for those now?” I asked.
“Absolutely. But there is one thing—it looks like you have an outstanding balance from your last semester. You’ll need to clear that before you can re-enroll.”