My daughter. Born just five minutes, and I was already jealous. Jealous of the doctor who held her first. Jealous of the nurse who spoke the first words to her (“tão bonita!”). Even jealous that those first words were in a language I didn’t understand. When she was finally placed in my arms I held her possessively. I had carried her for nine months, endured morning sickness and swollen limbs, turned my body into a receptacle whose sole function was to keep her safe and healthy. I’d paid for her with blood and pain. If that didn’t make her mine, what did? “Hello, Joy”. I breathed her name as part greeting, part prayer, and part promise. We were safe here. I hadn’t travelled or registered under my own name, and no one would think to look in a Cabo Verde hospital for a typical Mid-western college student who’d never left Iowa. Six months ago I hadn’t thought of being a mother at all. Now I was prepared to keep and raise my daughter despite my (our!) fugitive status. All thanks to Larry. He peeked in now to meet the newest member of the family. I hadn’t known him long, yet his expression of pleasure and excitement almost matched my own. We’d met eight months ago, while I was still thrilled at being part of a “team”. I imagined myself surrounded by the eagerly expectant parents, the watchful doctor and staff at the clinic, all of us committed to giving the best possible start to this new life. The reality was completely different. Slowly I came to realize that as the surrogate, I was barely to be acknowledged as a person. The “mother” and “father” were the paying customers, after all. The rest of us were simply on the job. Everyone from doctors to nurses to technicians offered congratulations at every milestone over my head to the woman who would raise this child. Her husband would lean on whatever stood behind him and jiggle restlessly or talk on the phone, every now and then tossing comments at his wife (“everything look OK to you?” “The kid doing all right?”). She never answered him, or asked any questions. No one seemed to notice that she was more and more withdrawn. And no one noticed me at all. No one but Larry. By the sixth month I no longer wondered that it had taken a referee for their egg and sperm to cooperate, and when the proud mother-to-be left a terse note abandoning “the project” and the marriage, I wasn’t surprised. What did surprise me was my relief. The plan had been brilliant: take a semester off, deliver near the end of summer, come back in the Fall with full college tuition, including room and board. No part time job, no student loans. I hadn’t told anyone, not even my parents. I told them I was part of a group researching labor relations on Wall Street for my sociology degree and spoke to them as often (or sporadically, according to my parents) as always. I had thought to sell a service, not fall in love with the person growing inside me. Now the thought of giving her up to people who didn’t love her felt like a betrayal. Larry, who saw the growing awe produced by his sonograms and the joy at my little girl’s every move, was the one who opened my eyes. “You can’t keep her, you know” he’d said quietly one day, while wiping the cold goo off of my belly. I looked at him in surprise. I hadn’t even admitted to myself that this was what I so desperately wanted. “Of course I’ll keep her. You can see the egg and sperm donors don’t give a damn.” “True. But what happens if you keep her and they change their minds? Even if it’s just one of them? One DNA test and you’re facing kidnapping charges.” I felt faint. I had no idea about what records the clinic was keeping, but I knew I couldn’t count on them for proof of anything. And I’d have no genetic relation to the daughter I was carrying. Larry had shown me the problem, but a few weeks later he brought me the solution as well. Change our identities, start a new life – leave the country. “Cabo Verde”, he’d said, flashing his crazy grin. “Sunny, low cost of living. And” he’d stressed with a flourish “no extradition agreement with the US.” I’d walked around in a daze for weeks, my frequent vomiting now due to raw fear. I watched in confused paralysis as he produced a fake passport and ID, never asking where they came from. Then came the final, exhilarating surprise as Larry placed two tickets before me. “I’m coming with you” he said. “Why?” I asked, stunned. “Can’t you guess?” he said. Then he kissed me. Suddenly I was no longer a scared girl running to protect her child. Now we were two people in love preparing a glorious life together. We were a family. “Say hello to your Daddy” I said now, handing my Joy to Larry. He took her tenderly as he laughed. “Funny you should say that”. I blushed “Well, you know what I mean…” “No,” he interrupted “What I mean is that her Daddy is here.” I was confused. “What?” Larry opened the door to let in the sperm donor. He gave me a curt nod of greeting, then both men dismissed me. “The kid all right? I’ve got a woman meeting us here for the trip home.” Larry nodded, all business now. “I’ll hand her to whoever you say – as soon as I confirm the transfer into my account” “C’mon – I wouldn’t stiff you, man. That bitch thinks she can walk away from me that easy, sure. But not when I’ve got her kid, right? You did good, taking care of this for me. Otherwise it would’ve been such a hassle! “ “Hey, I’m sentimental. Kids belong with their parents, right?” They both walked out, taking my daughter with them. Neither of them had so much as glanced at her.