“The surrogacy agreement,” I whispered.

“Yes,” he said.

He sat down on the small vinyl chair beside my bed.

He looked older than forty-five in that moment; his shoulders slumped, and the sharp line of his jaw seemed to soften with exhaustion.

“Sterling has been digging into my personal life for months to find leverage,” Daniel said.

“He wanted to block the merger, but now he wants more than that.”

“He wants the chairmanship,” I said.

“He wants me gone entirely,” Daniel replied.

He rubbed his forehead with his palm, his wedding band catching the harsh fluorescent light from the ceiling.

“He told me he has a copy of the original contract from twelve years ago.”

“The one signed by Sarah and me.”

“And by you,” he added, his eyes lifting to meet mine.

I pulled the thin cotton blanket tighter around my shoulders.

I could still remember the smell of that clinic in Oregon, the sterile scent of alcohol and pine cleaner.

I remembered the quiet room where I had signed away my rights to the children I would carry.