We were seated in the kitchen when she reached across the table and took my hand.
“I need to ask you something huge,” she said.
“I know I have no right to expect you to say yes, but…
would you carry our baby?”
“You’re asking me to be your surrogate?”
Penelope nodded, already crying.
“You’re my sister, and you’ve had two healthy pregnancies.
I don’t know who else I could trust with something this important.”
I knew I needed to talk to my husband and think it over carefully, but seeing her so heartbroken made me want to say yes right then and there.
A week later, I agreed.
Months passed, and Penelope was there for every appointment, constantly checking on me and preparing for the baby she’d waited years to meet.
By the time I was eight months pregnant, my belly was huge, the nursery was ready, and we were counting down the weeks until the birth.
