"Are you okay?" the man asked.
His voice was calm, but his face was tense, almost angry. He looked serious. He was dark-haired, around six foot three.
Without realizing it, I kept studying him. Suddenly, he shot me a sharp glance.
"Are you done staring?" he said.
I flinched.
"S-sorry," I stammered. "I hope they don't cause trouble for you too."
He replied in a firm voice.
"No one can touch me."
Then his eyes swept over me.
"Are you sure you're okay? You're shaking."
I looked at myself. Yes… my legs were trembling uncontrollably, and I couldn't stop it.
I turned back to him.
"I'm fine," I managed to say.
Gripping the steering wheel tightly, he spoke again.
"Why were they chasing you? How did you get involved with people like that?"
I didn't know what to say. Would it be right to talk, or safer to stay silent? I chose silence.
When he noticed I wasn't answering, he didn't push.
"Do you have somewhere to go?" he asked.
That question pulled me into my thoughts.
I couldn't go home—they knew where I lived.
I couldn't go to Mila's—they knew that place too.
They must have already placed someone to watch those places.
I turned back to him.
"No," I said. "I guess I don't have anywhere to go."
He continued driving without saying anything.
About ten minutes later, I couldn't hold it in anymore.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"There's nowhere safe I can take you right now," he said.
"You're coming with me. My son is waiting at home. I'm already late enough."
I didn't want to go to a stranger's house. But I wasn't safe outside either. Bus terminals, airports… they had probably covered everywhere already. After all, this wasn't a small amount of money.
So I stayed silent.
Fifteen minutes later, we stopped in front of a large house with a wide garden.
Several men in suits were standing outside. That made me even more uneasy.
Just then, the front door opened.
A little boy ran out.
"Dad!" he shouted, throwing his arms around the man.
"Did you get the toy, Dad?" he asked excitedly.
The man smiled.
"Yes, I did, son," he said, ruffling his hair and handing it to him.
The boy smiled brightly when he saw the toy car.
That's when I noticed it…
The child had barely any hair. His skin was pale, his arms thin.
My heart ached for him.
We went inside. The house was huge, but painfully quiet.
It lacked warmth—like something essential was missing.
I couldn't help myself.
"Your wife…" I said softly. "Isn't she home?"
His face darkened instantly. He looked at me sharply.
"My wife passed away," he said, short and firm.
My throat tightened.
"I'm sorry for your loss," I managed to say.
He nodded and sat down on the couch.
I sat across from him.
Suddenly, he turned to me.
"I'm Victor Hale," he said. "My son is Evan Hale."
"Nice to meet you," I said. "I'm Nora."
Victor nodded slightly, then turned to his son.
"Go upstairs with the helper. She'll take you to your room."
The woman beside us took Evan's hand and led him upstairs.
Victor watched until they disappeared from sight.
Then he turned back to me.
"Well?" he said. "Aren't you going to tell me? Why are they after you?"
Something inside me told me I could trust Victor.
I told him about my parents' deaths. Then the men at the door, the debt, the threats…
Victor listened without interrupting until I finished.
Then he straightened his posture.
"These men are dangerous," he said. "And they won't let you go. They will find you, sooner or later."
He took a deep breath.
"I'll be honest with you," he said. "My son Evan has leukemia."
My chest tightened.
"He needs a bone marrow transplant, but there's no suitable donor," he continued.
"And we don't have much time."
He paused.
"The doctors suggested a method," he said.
"Surrogacy."
My breath caught.
"I'm going to make you an offer," he said.
"I'll pay off your entire debt. I'll even give you more."
He looked straight into my eyes.
"But you have to agree to be a surrogate. Using our genetic material."
He continued:
"The umbilical cord blood from the baby would be Evan's only chance."
I froze. I couldn't say a word.
He must have noticed, because he added:
"If you accept, your debt is gone. You'll be safe."
His voice was firm, but there was something pleading in his eyes.
"And my son will live," he said.
My heart began to race wildly. It felt trapped in my chest, as if one more beat would shatter it. My ears rang; Victor's voice sounded distant. Time slowed.
I closed my eyes. Images collided in my mind—my mother's kitchen… my father's silent gaze… the men at the door… the black car… the cemetery… Evan's pale face…
All piled on top of each other.
Part of me wanted to stand up and run—out of this house, away from this man, from this offer.
Another part felt like a door had opened, just enough for me to breathe.
"If I accept this," I thought,
"who will I become?"
A mother?
A body carrying a stranger's child?
Or a woman who gave up everything just to pay a debt?
I looked into Victor's eyes. What I saw wasn't power, but desperation. He wasn't a controlling man—he was a father terrified of loss. No matter how hard he looked, something inside him was broken.
"I shouldn't have been forced to make this choice," I thought.
"Life shouldn't have dragged me here."
But it had.
Debt. Threats. Escape. Evan's life.
And my body.
I parted my lips, but no words came out. If I spoke, there would be no turning back. If I stayed silent, time wouldn't wait for me either. An invisible weight pressed down on my shoulders—heavy, crushing, unavoidable.
Something inside me broke quietly.
Maybe that was the moment I understood…
This wasn't a choice.
It was a salvation with a terrible price, handed to me by fate.
And I still didn't know how much that price would hurt.
Nothing would ever be the same again.