The Surrogate

by Freida McFadden

There’s only one thing different about this baby shower from all other baby showers thrown for the other women in my company: I’m not pregnant.

No, “hate” isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel for her. “Loathe” or “abhor” don’t quite do it either. Someone needs to invent a new word to describe the way I feel

That’s the best part about having a landline. You can slam it down. You don’t get the joy of slamming a phone down when you’re on a cell phone. What can you do—press “end call” really angrily?

“It’s so wonderful that you’re trying to adopt though,” she says. “There are so many children out there who need homes. I know you’ll find the right one for you. Why put more children in the world when you can take in one who needs you, right?”

I can’t sleep. I tried reading. I downloaded three separate books onto my Kindle, but none of them held my attention.

Sam is really good at apologizing. He’s harder on himself than I would ever be on him.