We had signed up for the program because my wife wanted it. And it was easier to go along with her than to admit my own desires, even to myself. Happy wife. Happy life. My wife was not beautiful. She had never been beautiful. She had medium blonde hair, and skin that stretched too tightly against her small sparrow bones. I sometimes watched her, from the corner of my eye, sitting on our California King, feeling like a voyeur, as she applied layer and layer of cream over her ever sagging jowls. My wife was not beautiful. But she got what she wanted, even so.
We ended up, five weeks after the initial interviews with the agency, being assigned a surrogate. The girl was small. Five foot one, maybe. She told u