Chapter 3 Triplets

Chapter 3

Lía's POV

The private clinic where the procedure was taking place was unlike anywhere I'd ever set foot in before: hushed hallways, unblinking white lights, and polished floors that reflected every step like an unforgiving mirror. It was the kind of place where no one died from a lack of resources. Where life had value simply because someone could afford to buy it.

Camila arrived first. Her flawless makeup contrasted sharply with her swollen eyes, proof that sleepless nights had left their mark on her despite her best efforts.

"Lía," she greeted, offering a soft, almost maternal smile. "Today is a big day. Are you holding up okay?"

I nodded, even though I wasn't. A heavy knot sat in my stomach, gripping me like a claw and making it hard to draw a full breath. But I couldn't hesitate now—not after stealing that form and turning it into my only lifeline.

Jorge appeared behind her a moment later. Dressed in a dark suit, he wore an impenetrable expression, carrying an aura that practically forced people to step out of his way.

"Let's make this quick," he said, skipping any pleasantries. "The smaller the margin for error, the better."

It wasn't pure coldness. It was fear wrapped in absolute control, as if admitting his anxiety out loud would somehow jinx it.

The doctor guided us into a small room, sterilized to the point of feeling completely impersonal. She rattled off protocols, risks, and statistics in a practiced monotone, but I barely registered a word. My mind kept flashing back to my mother—her ragged breathing, her body convulsing during that early morning crisis that had almost taken her from me. That memory played on a loop, a painful echo that justified every step I was taking now.

Camila took my hand as I lay back on the exam table, the sanitary paper crinkling loudly beneath my weight.

"Take a deep breath. We're right here with you," she whispered, her warm palm pressing against my freezing fingers.

Jorge stood rigid near the wall, scrutinizing the doctor's every move as though supervising a high-risk operation.

The procedure itself was fast, cold, and precise: a sharp pinch, a strange rush of fluid, and then nothing but the low hum of the medical equipment. When it was over, they helped me sit up. The room spun slightly.

"Now, we wait," the doctor said, offering a practiced, professional smile.

Camila beamed through a mix of desperate hope and contained terror.

Jorge simply nodded, though his jaw was clenched so tight it looked ready to snap.

The following weeks blurred into a suffocating routine: dodging glances at the office, losing my afternoons to endless medical appointments, and enduring forced rest that did nothing to ease my exhaustion. Camila texted me every day, her messages becoming an unexpected source of comfort.

"How did you sleep? Do you need anything?"

"Did you eat enough today? I can drop off your vitamins if you need them!"

Jorge, on the other hand, was punctual, dry, and strictly business.

"Appointment at seven. Don't be late."

"Check your blood pressure. Arriving in ten."

Never an emoji. Never a single wasted word.

The first blood test came back positive. Camila sobbed over the phone, her voice cracking with overwhelming relief.

"Lía, oh my God, thank you! We did it... finally..."

Jorge's response was exactly what I expected.

"Good. We'll schedule the weekly check-ups immediately."

But when the doctor called to schedule the first ultrasound, her tone was unusual—heavy with something left unsaid.

"I need all three of you to come in. Today."

By the time we gathered in her office, the silence in the room was oppressive. The doctor squirted cold gel onto my abdomen—sending a sharp shiver down my spine—and glided the wand over my skin. The monitor flickered to life.

A dull, rhythmic thumping filled the room.

Then another.

And a third.

Three blinking dots. Three synchronized heartbeats.

"Are they..." Camila slapped a hand over her mouth, tears instantly welling in her eyes. "Are there..."

"Triplets," the doctor confirmed, keeping her tone perfectly neutral. "Three successfully implanted embryos. It's rare, but it is a known possibility with these procedures."

The air in the room thickened, the walls suddenly feeling like they were closing in.

Camila broke down into loud, unrestrained sobs.

"Jorge... there are three! Three lives... Three babies!"

He didn't speak right away. His hands curled into tight fists at his sides, the shock draining all the color from his face. When he finally opened his mouth, his voice was hoarse, so thick with emotion it was almost unrecognizable.

"Thank you, Lía."

It was the first time he had ever truly thanked me, stripping away all his usual filters. And it sounded entirely genuine. Vulnerable, even.

I didn't know what to feel. A flash of pride? A rising tide of panic? A wave of vertigo washed over me, making my hands cramp as I gripped the edges of the table. Being a surrogate was already a crushing responsibility.

Carrying triplets... that turned my body into a minefield, a vessel where three separate lives were now growing without asking for permission.

After leaving the clinic that afternoon, I took a detour to the hospital to see my mother. She was sitting up in bed—frail and weak, but stable. Out of the woods, for now.

"You look exhausted, sweetheart," she murmured, extending a fragile, trembling hand. "Come here. Sit down."

I gritted my teeth. I couldn't keep hiding the truth from her. My body was already starting to change—a subtle fullness in my stomach, a bone-deep exhaustion that no amount of sleep could cure. Three lives demanded a lot more from a body than one.

"Mom... I have to tell you something."

She smiled, a faint light returning to her tired eyes.

"Whatever it is, sweetheart, tell me."

I took a deep breath, the sterile hospital air burning my lungs.

"I'm pregnant."

Her face lit up in a way I hadn't seen in months, a sudden, vibrant spark of life returning to her features.

"What? Lía, my baby!" She covered her mouth with both hands, tears springing to her eyes. "I can't believe it. I'm going to be a grandmother..."

The lump in my throat swelled, thick and painful.

"Mom... they aren't mine. I'm a surrogate. For my boss and his wife. It's... it was part of an agreement."

Her smile vanished, snuffed out like a candle in a sudden draft.

"Oh..." she whispered as the reality set in. "I understand."

"I did it for you," I blurted out, my voice shaking. "To pay for your surgery. So I wouldn't lose you."

She closed her eyes, a single tear escaping to roll down her pale cheek. But when she finally spoke, her voice was surprisingly firm, overflowing with love.

"I'm proud of you. Not for the sacrifice you made... but for your courage."

She reached out, framing my face with her cold hands and forcing me to meet her gaze.

"But you have to promise me something: don't forget that your life matters, too."

I didn't know how to answer that. I had three tiny lives beating inside me, and one fragile life clinging to survival right in front of me—all of them completely dependent on my choices.

"I promise," I lied, the words tasting bitter on my tongue.

That night, as I walked home beneath a heavy, overcast sky, the reality finally settled over me.

Nothing would ever be the same again. The Valdezes had bought back their hope. My mother had secured her health, at least for now.

And I... had lost the last remaining pieces of the old Lucía. Three tiny heartbeats accompanied me through the dark streets, a constant, rhythmic reminder.

Three intertwined destinies.

Three reasons I absolutely could not fail.