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London, England BST: 6:53 AM ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ There was definitely something to be said about being a dual national of two vastly different countries. Mon knew homesickness like she knew her own shadow, but years of travelling back and forth between England and Thailand had taught her how to quell the ache – to look for the little pieces of both cultures and hold onto it, to wrap it around herself like a security blanket.In London particularly, the cosy Khao Soi Cafe in Piccadilly Circus was a slice of Bangkok. Glowing bamboo pendant lights made from old Thai fishing traps hung down from the ceiling, intricate wooden carvings of Buddha decorated the sides of the pavilion-style booths, the seats plushed with vibrant cushions of reds and golds and greens; all the hues of Thailand enveloping Mon in a warm embrace as she sipped her milk tea, gazing out the window at the frenetic London street life, and relishing in the only moment of peace she was going to get from today.Mon was only a few weeks into her second year at the Royal Academy of Arts, and it was already proving to be ten times more demanding than her first year. The requirements for assignments were much more demanding, with the bar for all elements so high that Mon was forever straining to reach expectations. Details such as technique, composition, and colour theory were now judged through a closer lens.Keeping up with the relentless workload while simultaneously juggling her side job as a children's art teacher at a primary school in Twickenham was an experience to say the least, but it was no less rewarding. Mon's students were sweethearts, and they were good for her mental health, too. They lifted her spirits on her most difficult days, reminding her with their charming enthusiasm and pride in their juvenile scribblings that art should never become a chore. A poor grade did not necessarily mean poor work, and to compare academic art to leisurely art was like comparing apples to oranges.Mon checked the time on her phone and decided to make haste, finishing the last dregs of her tea. She put on her coat and slipped her satchel over her shoulder, patting the cafe's golden retriever, who sat contently in the bay window, on her way out. Despite the slate grey sky, it was a surprisingly tepid day for an English September — one of those days where the weather couldn't seem to make its mind up, bringing out a whole spectrum of seasonal fashion, with people in plastic rainmacs and heavy winter coats walking the same pavements as those in floaty summer dresses and thin t-shirts.Mon weaved her way around the lively crowds and made her way back to campus, speed-walking along St James' Street toward Burlington House, the grandiose edifice that housed the Royal Academy of Arts.The building stood proud and imposing, an old mansion built for a wealthy lawyer over three hundred years ago, now one of the world's most prestigious art institutes. Mon walked through one of two entryways at the front of the building, stepping through a tiled vestibule that opened into the neat and expansive Annenberg courtyard. The Academy was located in the north wing, where the bronze statue of Joshua Reynolds stood on a block of carved white marble.Relief sculptures depicting some of society's most well-known artists were imbued into the limestone, looking down upon the courtyard as the Union flag rippled in the breeze at the building's highest point as if to greet her.Mon had studied at this institution for a whole year, yet the imposter syndrome still lingered slightly. Even after all this time, it was hard to fathom that she was here, attending the school of her childhood dreams.Entering the gargantuan building, Mon made her way to the studios, a vast open-plan space where every student had their assigned cubicle. As she entered, she was met by the aroma of heady paint fumes, pungent varnishes, and ammonium-rich plaster of Paris — the distinctive smell of artwork in progress.Students wandered, slipping in and out of their cubicles to retrieve materials from the supply cabinets. Some wore headphones, nodding along to music as they worked, while the more sociable students preferred to work side by side in the open communal studio.Mon loved the pleasant camaraderie that this place seemed to exude as various students paused to acknowledge her as she made her way to her own studio, peeking into studio seventeen on the way, which happened to be her flat-mate Ruby's studio — as empty as a nest in December, all but for the impressive acrylic piece sitting on an easel, depicting a half-finished landscape of rolling pastures, with a man playing the highland pipes off in the distance — Ruby's beloved Scotland.No doubt its absent artist could be found precisely where Mon had left her this morning, sleeping off the hangover brought on by that pub crawl she'd tried (and failed) to rope Mon into last night. Mon rolled her eyes with a heavy sigh and retired to her own studio, closing the sliding door behind her. She couldn't understand why her roommate wasn't concerned about falling behind, especially with the rising expectations — it was Mon's greatest fear. She could not afford to be as lax as she'd been during her first year, not if she wanted to see that master's degree, anyway.Mon sent Ruby a quick "you up?" text before hanging up her coat and swapping it out for an apron, tying a firm knot at the small of her back. She set up her brushes and got her paints mixed and prepared before finally pulling back the white shroud covering her easel in the centre of the room. She crossed her arms, then stood back, her soft brown eyes sweeping across the canvas, calculating.Mon did not need to think twice about what the concept of home meant to her when Professor Auclair first set this landscape assignment; thoughts of Thailand were already running riot in her head: the buzzing, frenetic vibrancy of Bangkok. Her family, friends, and goofy French bulldog Singha occupying every available space in her mind since the beginning of the academic year.St James' and Hyde Park were lovely, of course — but neither held a candle to the cherry blossom abounded Chatuchak Park, presented before her in the form of oil paint, more or less complete.All it needed was a bit of tweaking.Standing attentively before the easel, Mon picked up a palette knife and smeared careful daubs of alabaster white onto the canvas, giving three-dimensional definition to the dainty pink petals floating down from the trees. She then paused to scrutinise her efforts for a moment, her mind conjuring up a hundred different permutations for improvement.There was something slightly off about it.A light knock against her door, and Mon could already tell who was behind it by its faint, nervous rhythm."Come in, Charlie."The door slid back, and Charlie peered inside meekly. He was the first year she'd been assigned to as a mentor, timid and awkward, and perhaps the clumsiest person she had ever met. When the guy was nervous, he tripped over his own feet and knocked things over like a bull in a china shop. But his hand was steady as a rock when it came to art. While many students were not as patient with him, Mon liked Charlie. She remembered how nerve wracking first year was to her. Clearly this awkwardness was just the way his anxiety was manifesting. But he would settle in with time, Mon was sure of it."Sorry to disturb you, Mon," he said, in his angular northern English accent, pushing his rounded glasses further up the bridge of his nose. "I was only wondering if you had a palette going spare? I just uh...smashed mine on the floor," Charlie lowered his gaze to the ground, embarrassed. "I checked the inventory, and there's no more left, and I absolutely would go into town to buy another, but it'd take too long, and I can't let the paint dry—""Charlie," Mon intervened before he could give himself an ulcer. "It's fine, don't worry about it. There's a spare palette on that counter over there.""Ah, thanks a lot, Mon. You're a gem," said Charlie, visibly relaxing as he crossed the room to retrieve the item. He rubbed the back of his neck as his eyes found Mon's painting, studying it intently."Was there something else?" Asked Mon when the silence stretched on. Charlie was an incredibly gifted landscape artist, and his staring made her feel slightly self-conscious."Sorry," he blinked, snapping back to earth. I was just admiring your landscape. Anywhere in particular?""A park in Thailand, where I grew up," Mon replied wistfully, her pink fingernails fluttering against the tall table beside her. "I thought it was more or less complete, but there's something missing. I just can't place what it is. Any advice? I know that Landscapes are your area of expertise. I'm more of a portraiture kind of girl.""Oh, okay, well..." Charlie's cheeks flushed a shade of pink as his eyes roamed the canvas. "I think you've done a belting job with composition and the balance of colour, by the way. But maybe you could paint the reflection of those cherry blossoms in that lake below..."That was it, he'd hit the nail on the head."Of course," Mon said, as realisation softened her perplexed frown. "God, it's so embarrassingly obvious. Thanks, Charlie; I'm pretty sure the exam board would have grilled me for forgetting that.""S'alright," said Charlie with a shrug. "Sometimes we can get so absorbed in our work that it makes us a little blind; it happens to the best of us." He held up the ceramic palette as he backed out of the room. "I'll return this as soon as I've finished.""In one piece, I hope," said Mon, playfully.Charlie gave her a sheepish smile. "Well, I shan't make any promises."Mon laughed, shaking her head in amusement as he left her to her work, glad that he was starting to get over his initial timidness. With his advice in mind, Mon dipped a thin liner brush into a splodge of pink and began to paint the reflections.By the time Mon's weekly lecture began to approach, she had made significant progress. She took a few steps back to get the benefit of distance, and a satisfied smile tugged at the corners of her lips; it looked so much better with the rosy hues of the cherry blossoms rippling in the water.
Thank the stars for Charlie Wainwright.
Mon signed her name in cursive at the far right corner of the canvas, then removed her apron, cleared her workspace, and set off to the lecture hall on a high note. ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Bangkok, Thailand THA: 1:23 PM A shiny stiletto heel sank into the fancy gravel that coated the car park's expanse as Sam stepped out of her yellow cabriolet in a black belted blazer dress. She nudged her oversized sunglasses on top of her head and gazed up at the opulent Italian restaurant; another of her grandmother's overabundance of investments, looming before her like a gallow.She took a moment to psych herself up, shedding her steely business persona for the one she'd tailored to the expectations of her grandmother. She pulled out a compact mirror and tested out her smile. She hadn't smiled in such a long time, Sam was worried it would appear as rigid and unnerving as her friends claimed it to be. Not that the unshakable Orepun 'Pun' Anuntrakul was easily unnerved.The smile broke faster than recoiling elastic as Sam snapped the compact shut and continued to the entrance. A doorman in a neat tux welcomed her cordially; Sam offered him a nod of acknowledgment, her expression unchanging.As the weighted glass door drifted closed behind her, the hubbub of the city dampened, giving way to delicate piano melodies layered atop the steady buzz of conversation and clanging cutlery. The disgustingly serene ambience was painfully incompatible with the overwhelming anxiety roaring in her mind as Sam made her way to her grandmother's private booth, the one she'd reserved for herself when the restaurant was first built.Though it was true, Sam was an immensely busy woman these days. Running a fashion company at the age of twenty-four was no simple task. There was always something that required her attention: demanding clients, last-minute orders, problems with the machinery, showcase issues, etc. However, there had been days where she could have found time on her days-off, but had chosen peace instead; for as much as she cared about her grandmother, the woman was exhausting.Since the day of the wedding, she would use every opportunity to bring up a particularly sensitive subject. Sam and Kirk had barely taken their seats at the wedding breakfast before she'd insisted on making a speech — going off on a whole monologue about how excited she was to become a grandmother again, and how Sam was the only granddaughter who was not a complete let-down and would carry on their family legacy as an Anuntrakul ought to, marrying young and raising her children well.Sam had tensed up like a rabbit in the headlights, feeling pinned down by the stares of the attendees she barely knew."We shouldn't rush into starting a family," Kirk clarified, with more assurance in his voice than she ever would have achieved in that horrifying moment. "I'll be ready whenever Sam is."She remembered how he had reached for her hand. How his eyes filled with that sickening adoration she couldn't return, and hated so much. Sam had to excuse herself multiple times that evening to have panic attacks in the women's restroom. She spent most of the after-party there, dressed to the nines in the only wedding gown she'd taken no pleasure in designing, willing the night just to end already.Kirk was a good man — so insufferably kind and selfless that it made her want to throw up, or tear her hair out, or both. Despite the lack of affection she had to offer him, the man still believed that she would someday adjust to this arrangement, as though it were as simple as breaking in a pair of shoes. But almost a year had passed since she choked out those empty wedding vows, and she still couldn't stand to be touched by him. She had kissed him on occasion, at business gatherings, although she'd been blind drunk in every scenario. Still, she used those instances to gaslight herself into thinking that maybe, deep down somewhere, she did love him.She had even gone as far as to sleep in the same bed with her husband, until he'd breached the unspoken line she'd drawn in her mind by draping an arm around her in his sleep; Sam had shoved him off as though he'd burned her and spent the rest of their first night as spouses wide awake in one of the guest bedrooms, and they'd been staying in separate rooms ever since.By the time Sam had finally adjusted to sharing her home with Kirk, Pun was quick to ruin it, blowing up her inbox with unsolicited news about some couple Sam had never met, along with photos of their mediocre children. Every time, Sam would dish out the same lacklustre compliments. It looks very happy.It has nice hair.It's definitely a baby. She still held out hope that by some miracle, Neung would miraculously walk back into their lives with a husband and a brood of kids to take the expectations away from her; it was a deluded wish, of course — hell would likely freeze over before Neung had children, and Song had been hurt so deeply by their grandmother's disapproval of her relationship, that she'd emigrated as far as Australia.The pure envy she held toward her sisters, for being braver than Sam. For leaving Sam to be the heir of the noble, image-obsessed Anuntrakul family, was still fresh, even after all these years. She cursed them both as she reached the booth where her grandmother waited, her shadow seeping through the canvas divider, cast off by candlelight.Something about it was unnerving, but Sam endured the dread filling her chest as she knocked lightly and slid the door back. The forthright woman turned her levelling gaze on her, placing her lipstick-stained glass of wine down. "Ah, she finally shows up," she remarked. "I was starting to forget what you looked like, Samanun.""I'm so sorry, Grandma," Sam replied; she took the adjacent seat and picked up a menu, flicking through the pages in a fluster, trying not to squirm under Pun's withering gaze. "I've just been so busy, and—""I feel sorry for Kirk," Pun interrupted. "A hard-working man should come home to a hot meal and a freshly drawn bath."Sam bit her tongue.She had worked tooth and nail — or rather, needle and thread her entire adult life and not once had Sam returned home to a 'hot meal and a freshly drawn bath.' What was the hardworking woman entitled to, other than blatant criticism?If it were up to Sam, she wouldn't be married to Kirk in the first place.When her grandmother had kicked Sam out of the family circle, just as she'd done to Song and Neung, she didn't have a penny to her name. But with hard work and a couple of loans here and there, it finally started to pay off. Only after Anuntrakul Limited started slipping into financial strain — thanks to Kirk's reckless spending habits and abysmal financing skills — did Pun come back into the equation, offering to pay off all their debts on the condition that she married her business partner.It had been sink or swim, an offer Sam couldn't afford to refuse. Anuntrakul Limited was trapped in a vicious cycle, spending more money than they were bringing in. Her subordinates were in danger of redundancy, and so Sam had no choice but to bite the bullet and accept the terms, sacrificing her status as a single woman for the benefit of her brand.It could've been so much worse; Sam often reminded herself of that. As far as men went, nobody was more suited for the job than Kirk. He didn't push her into doing anything sexual, and he tolerated her bad moods as most men would not.But most importantly of all, her company was thriving again."Why don't you start thinking about third-party contracts?" Pun suggested, to Sam's annoyance."And lower the quality of my label?" Sam shook her head."I wouldn't call the likes of Chanel or Dior "low quality" brands, both of whom work with third-party manufacturers. Why shoulder all the work by yourself?"It was never going to happen. Sam prided herself on quality, ethics, and authenticity when it came to her brand. There was absolutely no room for anything else. As a matter of fact, she would rather wear her most extravagant dress to a Songkran festival before she ever put a pen to a third-party contract; she didn't want her name associated with any kind of factory exploitation."I don't shoulder all the work," said Sam. "My team are all paid fairly, and they work well as a result. That's what makes Anuntrakul Limited top quality."Pun hummed, unswayed. "Well, you should put the same dedication into your home life. At this rate, it wouldn't surprise me if Kirk wanted to file for a divorce."God, I wish."Kirk is fine," Sam assured her, eyes skimming along the menu options, she was looking for something light, something that wouldn't aggravate her anxious stomach. "He can take care of himself, grandma. He is not a child.""Oh, Speaking of children," said Pun. "When do you plan on having some?"Sam pursed her lips, regretting her choice of words as soon as she'd said them. She kept her eyes locked firmly on the menu options."I think I'll order the scallops. Have you tried them?"Pun left the question unacknowledged, leaning toward her slightly. "You're twenty-four years old now, Sam. You'll be thirty before you can blink. It's time to leave the business side of things to your husband and focus on your duties as a married woman. "My heart gets weaker everyday, and I want to be able to rest in the knowledge that I succeeded in raising at least one of my granddaughters before I die. Is that too much of an ask? After everything I've done for you over the years?"
Here we go again.
Sam's knuckles turned white around the leather sleeve of the menu as the voice of doubt crept into her mind, unbidden. Sam was just short of three years old when her parents were killed in a head-on car collision. Raising your dead son's three children so suddenly while neck-deep in grief was an enormously admirable undertaking, and Sam would never stop being grateful for her care; if not for Pun, the three sisters probably would've ended up in an orphanage somewhere.Sam was stupid to believe that marrying Kirk would be enough, but surprisingly, it wasn't as horrendous as she imagined it would be. Perhaps there was a chance that having a child would be tolerable too?There just was one crucial aspect that got in the way, though. The mere thought of going anywhere near her husband in a way that would result in a child quite frankly turned Sam's stomach. But her grandmother spent the entire duration of their meal chipping away at her resolve until somewhere in her exhausted, slightly tipsy mind, a breach was made."Fine!" Sam announced, dropping her cutlery with a sharp clang and cutting off Pun's lecture midway. Sam closed her eyes in an attempt to reign in her frustration, pinching the skin at the bridge of her nose. "I'll do it...I will have a baby." ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
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London, England BST: 4:00 PM ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Mon prepared the Year 4 classroom that evening as though she were planning a murder. Draping plastic coverings over the rectangular tables and laying protective mats across the hardwood floor, ready for the chaos that was soon to hit the place. They were not even going to be using paints today, but children should never be underestimated when it came to making messes; Mon had learned that one the hard way.In the calm before the storm – she looked at the unread message her father had sent her in the lecture hall.
Hi, darling — welcome back! If you're not too busy tonight, do you fancy coming over for dinner and a catch-up? I heard you went out with your brother last week; you could have invited your old man!
Dad x Mon sighed.Her relationship with her father was a complicated one. Though she still loved him, or at least the version of him who'd actually been a real father to her, it was difficult to put aside the damage he'd cause. His illicit affair with an English business associate, while Mon and her mum lived in complete ignorance on another continent, was not something that was easy to forgive.Had James, Mon's younger half-brother, not come into the picture, she probably would have lost touch with her father long ago. James was sixteen, just five years younger than Mon, which was a further testament to how quickly their father moved on.Mon got along well with James. Nonetheless, she was slightly miffed that the boy had blabbed to their dad about their meet-up. Mon had still been feeling the tail end of a ferocious bout of fresher's flu at the time and didn't have the energy nor the desire to sit through lunch with Daniel Atkinson and his wife — who, unfortunately, came as a package deal."He is still your dad," Mon could almost hear her mum telling her in her mind. "Make sure you visit him now and again while you're there."Mon sighed in acquiescence and reluctantly sent him a simple 'thumbs up' emoji; she would have to get it out of the way at some point.The school bell blared out — bringing Mon out of her thoughts. Excited voices soon began to accumulate, punctuated by peals of laughter as the children from the after-school club, all of mixed ages, gathered outside the art room. A smile graced Mon's lips as she opened the door, ushering them inside."Hello, kiddos, come on in," Mon greeted, kicking the rubber stopper under the door as she ushered them inside, the volume in the room skyrocketing from zero to a hundred; Mon raised her voice. "Grab your aprons, please, and do not touch anything else yet! — Oliver, what did I tell you last week about swinging on chairs?""Sorry, Miss Mon," the boy in question replied, his mop of blonde curls bouncing as his chair rocked abruptly back into place. Mon gave him a look of gentle warning, and he smiled a cheeky, gap-toothed smile.Once she had all thirteen children in aprons — with the smaller ones needing a little extra help — she settled them in their places. Mon gathered their attention with a series of claps, which she had taught them to repeat back to her, bringing the noise level right down."All right, guys. So, last week, we made some beautiful collages — we will be doing something very similar this evening. Can anyone hazard a guess at what it might be?" She asked, gesturing to the pictures she'd Blu-Tacked to the whiteboard, examples of ancient mosaics. "Maybe these pictures might look familiar to some of you?"The children made their guesses, vying for the loudest voice. Apparently, all the playground energy still had yet to wear off.Mon winced. "What have we forgotten? If you want to speak in class, you need to...""Raise your hand," the kids all said collectively, as hands shot in the air. "Exactly," she praised, eyes sweeping the sea of striped ties and burgundy jumpers. With preamble, a small eight-year-old boy from Year Three with dark hair and a meek disposition followed suit, slowly raising his hand. Kenji Honda was Mon's newest and most timid class member and a secret favourite. Perhaps it was because he reminded her much of herself when she was his age. Kenji was British Japanese, and Mon had learned from the Headmistress that he was brought back to England by his father after his mother had passed away. He was having some difficulties adjusting to the change, which was an ordeal Mon could empathise with completely.This was the first time she'd seen him actively engage in class discussions. "Kenji?"The boy's voice was feather-light, barely even a whisper, but Mon heard him loud and clear."Mosaics?"A beaming smile curved across her face."Well done, Kenji, you're exactly right! Can you tell the class what you know about mosaics?"Too far, Mon realised as the boy vehemently shook his head, cheeks flushing bright pink."No? That's okay," she assured him, quickly moving on, hoping she hadn't pushed him any further into his shell. "Anyone else?"Another hand shot up. "Ooh!"Mon nodded at the small, mousy-haired girl seated beside Kenji. "Margo?""I think we have one of those on the floor at home, teeny tiny squares that make a picture — it's really old, though; it's been there for ages and ages, even before I was born!""Interesting. Thank you for sharing that, Margo," Mon replied. "Mosaic art is one of the oldest forms, dating back to the third millennium BCE.""That's even older than my grandma," Oliver lisped, to which Mon couldn't help but laugh."That's even older than my grandma's grandma's grandma..." another student added from across the room."Yep, it's very old, but let's stay on track, guys," Mon reminded them, continuing. "The ancient Greeks and Romans used mosaic art on many of their buildings to make them look as lavish and wealthy as possible. They can be made using all kinds of fun materials, like metal, stone or glass. Since we all did so well last week with our collages, I have decided to trust you guys with a material called ceramic."Mon gestured to the trays she'd set out in front of her. "On this table, I've placed out eight trays of coloured tiles, which we're going to use to decorate these wooden pots."Mon bent to retrieve a wooden flower pot from the cardboard box on the floor; she held it up to show them, then moved on, picking up one of the numerous sandwich bags. "At my go-ahead, I would like each table — in an orderly manner — to come to the front and choose no more and no less than thirty of any colour. You can use these sandwich bags to keep them organised. Let's start with the table at the back. Oh! and those of you with long hair need to tie it up, okay?" She added as an afterthought. "Nobody wants sticky hair. If you don't have a hair tie, I have some in my bag."As the kids set to work eagerly, Mon joined their tables to observe how they were getting along with the task, secretly enjoying their babbled stories of playground politics. She even took a pot for herself to decorate, finding it satisfyingly therapeutic not to have to pay attention to every minor detail. To have the freedom just to create. By the end of the session, Mon ended up with a lovely new pot for her paintbrushes.She instructed all the kids to write their names on the base of their pots, then sent them on to join the after-school club. As she began to tidy the art room, Mon felt a light tug on the hem of her sweater. She turned to see Kenji holding up an intricately folded paper flower.Light surfaced in Mon's eyes as she knelt to his level in the empty classroom, her heart turning to jelly in her chest. "Origami," she acknowledged, taking the offered creation with a smile. "Is this for me?"Kenji nodded shyly as Mon admired the complexities of the flower, each intricate cut and fold; such a carefully crafted little thing."This is amazing, buddy; thank you," Mon told him earnestly. "I'm blown away.""It's a gladiolus — mama showed me how to make them before she died, to help me be brave."
Gladiolus.
Of course.
The flower of courage.
Mon's eyes softened. "You know, Kenji, plenty of us grown-ups also need a little courage from time to time. I know I do when I'm having a hard day at my own school — so this flower will definitely come in handy. I'll make sure to keep it in my studio."The boy smiled sheepishly. Mon promptly rose to her feet, partly because Kenji needed to get back to the after-school club and partly because her tears were threatening to spill over. As he ran along to rejoin his peers, Mon released a breath and looked down at the origami flower with a thin, watery smile; she shut the gift in the safety of her spare pencil case, to prevent it getting squished.After wiping up the surplus glue, it was time to face the great Atkinson family reunion. She still had a good half hour before the bus arrived, so Mon slipped into Selfridges to kill some time and escape the drizzle in the air. The temperature had dropped significantly compared to this morning, and if the dark clouds were any indication, the weather would soon take a turn for the worst.A warm gust of air ghosted her face as she walked into the large department store. The first section was the mother and baby section. Truly a sucker for anything adorable, Mon couldn't help but fawn over the racks of cute little outfits.She picked up the sweetest little onesie with a pink tutu stitched around the rear, and wondered if it would fit Singha. It seemed about the right size, though she would probably have to cut out a hole for his tail—"Can I help you find anything?" A member of staff asked her amiably."Oh. No, thank you," Mon smiled, her cheeks flushing pink, as if the woman could somehow read her pathetic thoughts. "I'm just browsing."Mon put the onesie back on the rack, then continued forward, finding herself in the designer section. She looked at the price tags and tried to maintain a straight face among the rich people with their armfuls of shopping bags, £6,000 for one dress that was likely mass-produced by people living on the poverty line.The Anuntrakul dresses on the other hand, Mon could bring herself to forgive. She remembered reading a little about the Thai-owned label in an article somewhere. Unlike countless other fashion brands, the founder was an activist against factory exploitation who placed emphasis on the fact that all her clothing was hand stitched in Bangkok. The love and care that went into each piece really showed, because the dresses, albeit extremely expensive, were nothing short of breathtaking.Mon watched customers mill around the place, buying stunning evening gowns and cocktail dresses, scanning their credit cards like they were nothing but pieces of plastic. She felt herself sticking out like a sore thumb, so she kept her distance, content to admire the displays from afar. Mon would love to paint a subject wearing one of these dresses. Especially the dusky rose number with its bodice decorated with what appeared to be authentic scintillating diamonds. Maybe she would paint it from memory — it wasn't exactly the kind of dress that was easy to forget.The sound of her phone buzzing inside her coat pocket interrupted her thoughts, and Mon was pleasantly surprised to see that it wasn't her dad calling but Aon. She swiped to accept, still gazing at the dresses. "Hello, Phaaw.""Mon."Mon's eyebrows twitched into a concerned frown. There was something in his tone that sent a wave of unease crashing over her. "Is everything all right?"The speakers crackled against Mon's ear as he sighed down the other line. "Your mum has been taken into hospital, sweetheart." ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Bangkok, Thailand THA: 12:20 A.M ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Regret had clung to Sam like flies around shit for the rest of the day; her sour mood was a palpable presence when she returned to headquarters, strutting around the offices in scrutiny. Snapping at her subordinates for talking too much, and looming over the shoulders of her sewists to cause missstitches, just so she could have a reason to yell.It was all Sam she could do to feel a modicum of control over her life.Her employees whispered behind her back as she made a beeline to her office, where she spent the remainder of the day holed up like a bad-tempered teenager. She called for Noi, her personal assistant, whenever she needed something taken to the photocopier or a drink to dampen her mouth, dry from anxiety.She worked until her eyes dried out, chasing up emails, making spreadsheets, and organising future projects. Only then did Sam close the lid of her laptop and press the heels of her hands against her aching eyeballs.Blinking away the colourful patterns swimming before her vision, she tapped her phone, illuminating her dewy face in the dark of the room — her wallpaper was a childhood photo of herself, Song, and Neung — an entire lifetime ago now.She found Jim's contact, slumping back against the headrest as she impatiently wheeled herself back and forth on the desk chair, willing her to answer. When the line finally connected, Sam did not give the woman room to answer before she offloaded on her."I did something really stupid.""What else is new?" Jim's voice was groggy, laden with sleep. "Listen, Samanun, this better be the most outlandishly idiotic stunt you've ever pulled in your life because I haven't slept in months—""I told grandma I'd have a baby."A pause. The speakers crackled as Sam heard Jim slowly inhale. "Okay, yeah, that definitely qualifies.""Tell me what I should do," Sam demanded, compulsively clicking her Swarovski crystal pen."Okay. Step one," said Jim. "Lie down in the same bed as your husband. Step two—"Sam tossed her head back against the chair's headrest, clenching her jaw in frustration. "Jim! Stop being facetious; I don't know if I can do this!""Then why did you tell the wicked witch that you would, you spoon?!""I don't know!" Sam cried defensively. "She just kept pecking me and pecking me about my job and my marriage, and then started lamenting about how much she has done for me over the years and how she wants to see me have a kid before she dies, apparently so she can feel like she succeeded in raising at least one of us; I just agreed to the whole thing to shut her up."Jim let out a groggy, frustrated growl, already sounding fed-up with the conversation. "She's doing it to you all over again, Sam. Guilt tripping you into giving her what she wants; did you learn nothing from the first time around?"Sam sighed, feeling torn. "My brand would be dead in the water without her help, and this is something that she really wants...maybe — maybe it wouldn't be as bad as I'm making it in my head.""You've done enough for that woman. I mean, you married a man you have no feelings for; why do you want to rub salt in the wound by having a baby?" Jim questioned, genuinely perplexed. "Are you afraid she'll withdraw her investment in the company? Because it's not like you need her contributions anymore.""No, it's not that," Sam sighed. "Then why, Sam?""Because," Sam whined. "As much as she gets on my nerves, I'm the last granddaughter she has.""A problem of her own making," Jim reminded her, unsympathetically. "It's all about appearances with that woman, Sam. If she truly gave a rat's ass about you, she wouldn't have cut you off, just to slither back into your life as soon as she clocked an opportunity to manipulate you!""I know it was messed up, but she's still my grandmother, and she hasn't got long left, Jim. How can I let a woman who has only ever known grief and loss, go to her grave unhappy?""If she asked you to quit your job and join the circus, you'd probably do that too, wouldn't you?""Jim, I told you to take this seriously." "I am taking this seriously, that's why I'm letting you know how crazy this is," Jim countered, irked. "Would you like me to enlighten you on what you're roping yourself up with?""Not really.""Adisorn brings me a lot of happiness, and I wouldn't be without him. But raising him is no picnic. Babies and toddlers will put you through the steepest highs and lows of your life, especially when you haven't showered or eaten a proper meal in a week, and the baby outright refuses to sleep," Jim told her earnestly."And I get that the old woman has a heart condition, but nobody, dying or not, has the right to force another person into that life, Sam."Sam pursed her lips, pensive. "But it's not like I can't just pay a nanny to deal with that stuff. I wouldn't have to be stuck with it twenty-four hours a day like you are," she reasoned bluntly, to which Jim, hardened by the years of taking such abrasive comments, took no offence."Thanks for clearing that up," she replied flatly."I just don't like how it comes to be or even the idea of something moving around inside me," Sam continued with a shiver. "All you did was complain when you were having your kid. Your ankles swelled up, and you became over-emotional and worst of all – you got fat.""I did not get—!" Jim started to yell but suddenly cut her volume, presumably to avoid waking her son. "Look, you're an adult woman who can make her own choices. If you're dead set on having a baby, I'd be an idiot to think I could stop you. But the conception part is the easiest step."Sam shuddered at the thought. "Speak for yourself.""I don't know what else to tell you, Sam. I guess you could convert to Catholicism and pray for an immaculate conception. "Then, as an afterthought, Jim added, in a sing-song tone: "Unless...""Unless what?""Just the other day, Kade was talking about some of her celebrity friends and the kids they never see. They go through a specialised fertility clinic to have their kids because the production companies are strict on appearance, so the actors pay other women to birth their babies for them, so they can avoid breaking the terms of their contracts; if you can get Kirk to agree to this madness, you wouldn't have to do the deed with him."Sam was intrigued — if she went about it that way, she could avoid putting strain on her work quality and keep her grandmother satisfied; after all, she never specified that Sam should be the one to carry the child.It almost sounded too good to be true."But how is it possible?" Sam asked, baffled."Hello? This is the twenty-first century, Sam. They use modern science. But I guess I shouldn't expect anything less from a twenty-four-year-old with no social media presence."Snapping her flip phone shut, Sam promptly ended the call without so much as a thank you or goodbye. Her expression was resolute, her mind made up. She locked up the Anuntrakul headquarters for the night, drove herself home and walked to the front door of her mansion with purpose.When she stepped into the house, she made a beeline to the living area where Kirk was seated, laptop open, sheaves of documents scattered haphazardly on the coffee table and an open pack of nori sheets."Sam, you're back," he greeted, voice muffled by the mouthful of nori. He pushed his reading glasses on top of his head. "Hey, can I get your input on—?""Kirk," Sam cut him off brusquely, holding up the palm of her hand. "We're going to have a baby."Kirk began to choke. ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ London, England BST: 7:42 pm ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Everything had stopped.Her heart, her mind. The world and everyone in it shrank around Mon until there was nothing but she, the phone, and Aon's stricken voice on the other line. She reminded herself to breathe, sitting down on a bench in Selfridge's shoe section. "What are you talking about, Phaaw? What happened?""Honestly, sweetheart, I'm just as confused as you are right now," Aon responded, grave. "All I know is that she was taking Singha out for his morning walk when she collapsed and hit her head on a rock."Mon felt her throat constrict with emotion as she carded her fingers compulsively through her hair; the distance between here and home had never felt further in this moment. "Is she conscious right now? Could I speak to her?""I'm sorry, Mon," said Aon, regretfully. "She's been placed in an induced coma to minimise the damage to her brain. She has a small bleed. They're taking her into surgery any moment now.""Okay," said Mon feebly, trying to maintain a semblance of control over her voice as her world crashed down around her; she didn't know what she would do with herself if she lost her mum."I'm going to book the soonest flight I can find; I'll let you know when I get to the airport, Phaaw.""All right then, take care, sweetheart," said Aon, regretfully. "And please try not to worry too much if you can. Your mum is in capable hands, and I won't leave her side; you can count on that."Mon nodded, wholly grateful for the earnest kindness of her stepfather — the man who gave Pohn all the love and respect she so deserved, and who loved Mon as though she were his own flesh. The man who had been there for her when her father was thousands of miles away, building a new life with a new woman."Thank you, Phaaw," she told him, her voice protesting against the tightness in her throat. "I'll see you soon."The bus journey back home felt so much longer than usual, and there was an unbearable ache in her chest as she scrolled through the sky scanner app, easing off slightly when she managed to find a vacant seat departing from Heathrow in an hour and a half.She forced what was left of her rationale to do the maths. It would take twenty minutes to get back to Sweet William Court, and a handful of minutes to pack some essentials and grab her passport, then a further forty-seven minutes to reach the airport, even longer if there were delays. That gave her, if everything ran smoothly, a little over twenty minutes to find the terminal and get on the plane.Could she make it?She would have to, Mon decided. Her mum's condition could easily change within the eleven hours it would take to reach Bangkok.She couldn't afford to waste another second.Mon confirmed her booking with a decisive tap of her thumb, placing the question of emergency University leave on the back burner for now. She turned to the rattling window and watched the city roll by behind the grimy glass, a world of saturation moving far too slowly.The Sweet William Court building had lit up for the night as the bus rolled up to the shelter, awash with the silvery-blue glow of LED lights. Mon ran through the automatic doors into the reception area and jammed her finger against the button for the lift as if it would bring the carriage down any faster. When it finally reached her floor, the doors hadn't fully opened before she barged inside.When Mon let herself into the shared room, she found Ruby slumped on the sofa in a fleece robe, shamelessly tucking into an entire tub of hackney gelato, engrossed in a re-run episode of Eastenders; the girl's attention didn't veer from the screen when Mon walked in. "If you're going to lecture me—""I'm going back to Thailand," Mon cut her off; her friend's poor punctuality was now the last thing on her mind."Woah, what?" Ruby frowned, sitting up. "Hey, I know I can be a nightmare to live with sometimes, but—""No, it's not you," said Mon. "My mum is in the hospital, and I have to be with her. I only have two hours to get to Heathrow, though. Can you help me pack?"Speechless, Ruby nodded vehemently, tossing the remote aside and driving her spoon into the remainder of her ice cream. She followed Mon to their shared room, watching as she dragged an empty duffel bag from the top shelf of her wardrobe and deposited it on her bed. She didn't have time to bring her giant suitcase, so Mon packed the necessities, not even bothering to fold her clothes as she bundled them inside unceremoniously."I can't believe it," said Ruby as she swooped in to assist. "Poor Pohn. Do you know what happened?""My step-dad called me after art class. She collapsed in the park and hit her head," Mon explained, her voice wavering halfway.Ruby cursed under her breath. "You should schedule an Uber — here, let me pack.""No," Mon shook her head. "It'll be faster to take the tube; I don't trust London traffic.""Fair enough," Ruby nodded. "I'm going to put your passport in the inside pocket of your purse, okay? And don't worry about the academy; I'll let them know what's happened tomorrow morning.""Thanks, Ruby," she said appreciatively, taking her purse from her roommate and slinging the well-packed duffel bag over her shoulder. As Mon rushed to the door, Ruby very briefly stopped her."Mon."Mon turned expectantly. "Yeah?"In a blur of copper red curls, Ruby flung her arms around Mon, hugging her tight. Mon smiled faintly, patting Ruby's blazing mane. "Don't make a habit of these pub crawls, okay? You're in second year now; it's time to knuckle down.""Yes, boss," she remarked, releasing Mon. "You'll keep me updated, won't you?""Of course," she promised, and with a parting wave, Mon left in a dash, her bulky bag slung high over her shoulder.It was a two-minute walk from Sweet William Court to Caledonian Road Station, and Mon thanked her lucky stars that she'd been placed in this particular student comm and not any of the others affiliated with the RA. Charlie, for example, had drawn the short straw at Bower House on Lemming Street, a thirty-minute trek from the nearest station and just over two hours away from the academy itself.It had started to rain when she got outside, broad droplets hurtling down from the clouded grey sky to bounce off the cement pavements; a profound shift from the morning's warm weather. The downpour pelted Mon's cheeks as she reached Caledonian Road, descending the steps that led down into the shelter of the echoey Underground. It was relatively quiet down there, which was pretty much standard for a weekday evening in September. Skittish pigeons waddled away at her feet as she made her way to Platform Two, scanning her Oyster card at the turnstiles. Forgoing, as most sane Londoners did, the highly off-putting steel benches covered in discarded chewing gum, cigarette ends, and bird excrement.Pushing back her rain-dampened hair, Mon stood on the platform, keeping a close eye on the departure board, hoping not to see the dreaded word "delayed" appear beside her destination, an inconvenience that had happened to her many times in the past. But a modicum of fortune seemed to be on her side that evening as minutes later, the carriages rolled along the Elizabeth line one by one.The train bleeped a few times before its doors slid open, and Mon boarded; homebound. ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
Sam thumped Kirk firmly between the shoulder blades as he doubled over, coughing and spluttering until finally, the piece of nori wedged in his windpipe dislodged. He signalled for Sam to stop with a fervent wave, straightening up from his hunched position as Sam picked up a glass of water from the table and handed it to him."You should learn to chew," She told him patronisingly. Kirk looked up at her, nonplussed. If he thought he was accustomed to his wife's volatile personality by now — he could consider himself sorely mistaken. He floundered over words he couldn't quite string together, gagged by what she had just flung at him."Well?" Sam pressed, raising her neatly threaded eyebrows in anticipation. "Are we in agreement?""I..." Kirk blinked, completely thrown. "Where is this coming from? Did you talk to Kuhn Pun today? Is that where you disappeared to on your lunch break?""Does it matter?" Sam asked, already exasperated with the conversation. "You've wanted a child for a while. You fawn over the things like they're puppies; now I'm telling you that you can have one."Kirk's eyebrows tilted. "I'm not a big fan of how you worded that," he said, faint lines of disapproval bracketing his lips.Sam crossed her arms. "How else should I have worded it?""Well, for a start..." He gently clasped Sam's wrist, guiding her to sit with him. "Children are not puppies; they are human and should be referred to as such. Also, you're speaking in second-person terms here, Sam. Having a child should be a mutual decision.""Okay, fine. We should have a baby of our own," she corrected herself. "Was that better?"Kirk gave a thin, unconvinced smile. "Sam, I would love nothing more than to start a family with you. But...I'm not entirely convinced that you want the same thing.""I wouldn't have suggested it otherwise," she told him, her shoulders twitching defensively. "I don't have much experience with children; maybe that's why I didn't word it right, but everyone has to start somewhere, no?"Kirk studied her intently, trying to find something in her expression that would indicate dishonesty, but trying to read Sam was like trying to get blood from a stone. When she wasn't being brutally honest, she had a frustrating tendency to say the opposite of what she was honestly thinking, and sometimes, it was difficult to decipher between the two."There's no time to waste," she declared with conviction, or perhaps some semblance of it."Uh, I'm not sure what you...?" Kirk stammered as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. "Right now?"Sam gave a flat hum as confirmation, her expression melding into confusion as the colour rose in Kirk's cheeks. "Why are you blushing?""It's just, uh...it's getting late, and I haven't even had the chance to shower yet," he told her self-consciously.Sam frowned, confused. "How is that relevant?" At this, Kirk burned an even darker shade. "Sam, you do realise what needs to happen to conceive a child?"A pause. Sam's eyes shifted, processing. Then, realisation softened the baffled look on her face. "Ohhh, that." She waved him off dismissively. "Yes, I'm not dense. But we're not going to use that primitive method. We're going to have fertility treatment."The hopeful look in Kirk's eyes fizzled away. "Like IVF?"Sam nodded."Okay, yeah...I suppose so," Kirk loosely agreed. "But only if this is what you truly want."She stands, stretches. "It is. I'm glad we're on the same page. I'm going to take a bath now. You'll get my input on whatever that is tomorrow; another headache, I presume," said Sam, gesturing to the haphazardly organised paperwork. "I've had enough headaches for one day."With that, she made off to the suspended oaken steps fixed along the far wall, stilettos clacking against glossy marble."Sam, wait," Kirk called, prompting her to pause."I meant what I said, you know; I would never force you to do anything you weren't comfortable with. That includes a decision as big as this," Kirk told her, eyes filled with earnestness.Sam sighed. "I thought we just went over this." "I know," Kirk told her, seriously. "But I want you to think this through. Babies are not like shoes. They are non-refundable."Sam gave a terse nod and, without another word, retreated to her bedroom. She had no desire to 'think it through' — because if she did, she might find issues, and if she found issues, she would never go through with it.It was in trying times such as these that Neung's philosophy popped into her head:
Just grin and bear it, and it'll all work out in the end.
She hoped.
Sam removed her makeup and ran herself a hot bath, filling it with fragrant bubbles and sighing in relief as her weight made the water swell, rushing up over the planes of her bare chest to encircle the base of her aching neck.She let herself soak in the jasmine bubbles, just stewing there until the water cooled and the pads of her fingers turned pruney, trying to keep her mind from running away.Then she wrapped herself in a silk robe of her own design and climbed into her bed, sinking down against the pillows. Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her, and when Sam finally did drift off, after hours of tossing and turning and flipping her pillows around, she was woken moments later to the sound of her alarm, blaring that atrocious marimba tone. Sam reached for her phone and silenced the noise. The first thing she saw was an email notification. She usually let Yah, the head seamstress, deal with the more straightforward queries. However, the fact that it was coming from Dao, Sam's eyes and ears when it came to misconduct, suggested it was a report of some kind.Sam let out a vexed sigh.It was barely six a.m
Good morning, Boss, I hope this email finds you well
I write to inform you of a breach of contract committed by Kuhn Toey and Kuhn Ae. The attached images were captured on the new CCTV cameras installed yesterday morning.
Regards,
Dao
Sam opened the attachments and immediately frowned, propping herself up one elbow. They contained images of Sam's concept artist Toey, locked in a kiss with her production manager Ae. "Great," she murmured.This was an inconvenience, to say the least. Toey played a crucial role for Anuntrakul Limited. Sam's terrible art skills betrayed her talent for design, so Toey's job was to take her rough sketches and polish them into clear references for production.Still, company policy was company policy. Sam took less consideration than usual to put an outfit together as she sluggishly entered her wardrobe and pulled the nearest item off its hanger, going with a cream houndstooth dress with white trim detailing and accessorising with a matching handbag, a sterling silver 'A' for Anuntrakul fixed to the front.She showered but skipped her usual hair routine, slicking it into a pristine bun and trying her best to cover the dark circles under her eyes with a touch of concealer; then she made her way down to the kitchen. Kirk was already at the marble island, stirring two steaming mugs with a spoon. "Ah, good morning, teerak," he greeted brightly. The pet name jabbed at Sam intrusively.She didn't think she would ever adjust to Kirk fawning over her like this. She liked him so much better when things were normal, back when they were just two amateur designers chasing after a dream in fashion school. Back before this enormous marital wedge that only Sam seemed to be acutely aware of had been thrust between them.She hated that this arrangement was making her want to withdraw from Kirk; If she could go back in time and tell her younger self about the doomed direction their friendship was going to take, Sam was sure she'd be horrified.Kirk pushed a mug her way with an amicable smile, bringing Sam out of her thoughts. "I made you some coffee."Sam grabbed the handle and proceeded to chug the beverage, hoping it would dose her with the energy she so needed to address this morning's problem.Kirk's eyes widened. "Slow down, Sam, you'll give yourself heart palpitations!"She ignored him. Draining the mug and placing it back down against the countertop none too gently. "All right, what happened?" Kirk asked, perplexed by his wife's volatile mood. "Why are you so angry? Is this about last night's discussion—""No," she snapped, a little more harshly than she'd intended. The whole 'having a baby' thing did play a part in her frustrations, that much was true; it had kept her awake all night. But Sam took the opportunity to blame it all on this new inconvenience. "Kuhn Dao emailed me. She told me that Toey and Ae have breached the terms of their contracts."Kirk's expression fell serious. Sam slipped her phone from the pocket of her dress, opening the attachments on her phone and showing them to Kirk. "They've been sneaking around like a pair of feral cats."Kirk studied the images. They looked PG enough, just a simple kiss. Not nearly as bad as Sam was making them. He knew what direction this was going, though; he'd seen it all too many times. Shadows of deep concern fell across his face. "We can't lose Toey. Fashion Week season is soon to start—""So? We don't need concept artists for Fashion Week. And I plan to give Ae's position to Dao, she's obviously a lot more dedicated to her job."All their designs for Fashion Week events were made by their own hands — of course, it was useful to have visual references, but they'd been designing without them years before Anuntrakul Limited was established. Sam did make a mental note to find a new one before the start of the new collection, however."You just don't want them to go because you've formed an attachment to them," Sam told him. "There's no room for friendships, not least romantic relationships in the workplace, only alliances." "But don't you think you're blowing this a little out of proportion? It's not like they were doing anything vulgar. Give them a second chance. How about I speak to them and—""No," Sam cut him off stubbornly. "I won't start making exceptions for the sake of convenience. I don't do 'second chances'. They broke the rules, and now they have to face up to the consequences." Kirk sighed heavily. "All right, fine. It's your call. But I think you're making a mistake. If you just talked to them, I'm sure they'd refrain from doing it again."Sam bristled. She was getting increasingly tired of people telling her what she should and should not do. "Oh, don't worry, I will be talking to them", she promised, walking over to the hooks by the front door and snatching her car keys. "See you at work.""Sam, please—""See you at work."True to her word, Sam ordered everyone to gather in the conference room. She entered with unruffled strides, the hectic volume in the room plummeting down to zero as her penetrative gaze conducted a sweep of the semicircular seating gallery. Sam's lips tilted at one corner, a curt gesture that failed to meet her eyes. She let the silence stretch on for a long, uncomfortable moment."Everyone in this room is given equal treatment, are they not?" Sam eventually began, to which everyone meekly agreed, intimidated. She started to pace the floor languidly, arms crossed against her chest. "And here at Anuntrakul Limited, we all work as a family, do we not?"The hum of response came again."Then tell me." Sam stopped her pacing, turning her scrutiny on them like a deadly weapon. "Do family members date each other?"Whispers carried through the room as everyone glanced at one another, trying to guess who Sam could be referring to. Yah, Noi, Chin, and Auntie Mhee, the extroverts of Sam's recruits, openly threw around their guesses. As they did this, Sam's eyes fell knowingly upon Toey and Ae. Toey was visibly fretting, and Ae was attempting to soothe her, rubbing his hand across her shoulder and whispering in her ear. Sam watched them for a moment, then turned to the small table beneath the large monitor. The images filled the screen and there was a collective gasp among the employees. Sam's steady gaze returned to the couple featured on the monitor, frozen like deer in headlights.Toey dissolved into tears, while Ae's expression flashed into one of anger. He bolted to a stand, turning to face the left row, jabbing an accusatory finger at Dao. "This was you, wasn't it?! You ratted us out to win the boss's favour again. You selfish—""The CCTV ratted you out," Dao simply said. "I just happened to see it. Did you expect me to make myself complicit in your misconduct?"In Sam's peripheral, she saw Kirk appear in the doorway, ready to intervene should the situation escalate."Don't give me that bullshit, you bitch. It's always you!" Ae argued, and Toey grabbed his arm, silently pleading with him to calm down. "You stir up anything you can if it means you can get favoured." He turned back to Sam, pressing his hands together pleadingly. "Boss, please. Watch the whole video, and you'll see that it was just a small peck on the lips. It was nothing inappropriate. Dao just paused it at the exact moment — it didn't last more than two seconds!""I don't care how long it lasted," Sam told him, rolling her eyes. "The fact is, you brought your relationships into the workplace, which is strictly forbidden.""It's all my fault – at least be lenient with Toey." He begged pathetically."I don’t do lenience. You both broke the terms of the contract. And you're both leaving today; clear your belongings and hand in your lanyards at reception. If you're not out within the next hour, security will be more than happy to help."With that, Sam gave them all a final glare of warnings. “Kuhn Dao, you’re the new production manager.” Then she ambled out of the room, shouldering her way past Kirk, whose eyes fell closed under the dread of the damage control he'd just been left with. ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We will be landing at Suvarnabhumi Airport in about fifteen minutes. Local time is six-eleven a.m., and the current temperature sits at 29 degrees Celsius. Please return your luggage to its proper location and place your seats back and tray tables in their upright position. We hope you have had a pleasant flight and enjoy your stay in the Land of Smiles." By the time the plane finally touched down on the runway, the eleven hours of fluctuating pressures inside the cabin had done a number on Mon's head. As she walked along the busy Jetway, yawning her way through the gate, she handed her passport over to the border control officer for authorisation, then took her phone off airplane mode, wincing when she saw the numerous missed calls received between her father and brother."Shit!" Mon swore, dumping her bag onto a nearby bench – the dinner plans had completely slipped her mind.Mr Atkinson picked up within seconds, his tone heavy with distress. "Mon! What the hell are you playing at?!""I am so sorry, Dad," she told him, feeling like a kid who had wandered too far in a supermarket. "I can explain—""Do you have any idea how frantic we were?!""I understand, but—""We had the police out looking for you and everything!" He ranted. "God, darling, this is London. You weren't answering my calls, and you know how dangerous the city can be for young women these days, especially at night; I was worried sick.""I understand, but hear me out," She told him, unfazed by the attention being drawn from the passengers around her. "I just arrived in Bangkok.""Why on earth are you in Bangkok?""Because—""You only just arrived in England.""If you'd let me get a word in edgeways, I might be able to explain why!" Mon snapped. She scrubbed a hand across her bloodshot eyes, contrited by the tone she'd used. "Sorry. I'm just tired. Mum is in the hospital.""What?" He asked, after a long pause, the volume of his voice withering into a gentle whisper. "Good god, darling, I'm so sorry. What happened?"Mon swallowed, and that awful drag in her chest returned as she was forced to relive that conversation. "Phaaw called me at school. She collapsed in the park and hit her head.""And how is she?" "I don't know much yet," she replied impatiently. "I have a cab to flag down. I'll talk to you later, Dad.""Hold on, before you go. I hope you can at least understand my frustrations. I know you like to give me the cold shoulder sometimes, but when James got no answer — all sorts of things started running through my head.""No, I get it. But right now, this isn't about you or me — it's about Mum," she told him. "I have to go now.""Take care then, darling," he said with understanding. "Give your mother all my... tell her I...give her—""I'll update you later," Mon interrupted if only to free him from his awkward stammering. Even after all these years, it was apparent the man had no idea what courtesy he was supposed to show his ex-wife. "Bye, Dad."Mon ended the call and sent a brief apologetic text to James. She stopped by Duty-Free to buy some blister packs of ibuprofen for her head and washed them down with some water from a vending machine. She was getting ready to hail a cab directly to the hospital when Aon called. "They won't let us into the ICU until the afternoon," he informed her gently. "Come home first, Mon — you've had a long journey, and at such short notice.""Mum's surgery—?""Went very well," he allayed her. "They controlled the bleed, and they don't think there'll be any lasting damage. Sedation is going to be withdrawn in a few days' time to give her brain time to recover."Aon was waiting for her outside the house when the cab pulled up. She threw the heavy door open, falling into his arms. "Shhh," he eased her as she cried silently into his chest. He pushed her away by the shoulders and wiped her tears away with his sleeve, his face falling at the weariness written in her eyes. "Let's get you inside, I made your favourite."The airline food had been nothing short of an assault against her tastebuds, so the bowl of homemade Tom Kha Gai that Aon had so kindly gone out of his way to prepare was a welcomed relief to her stomach as she settled at the dining room table, squeezing out all the knots that lying on the uncomfortable plane recliners had caused. Aon, an emphatic conversationalist by nature, was oddly quiet as they sat together at the dining room table, contrastive to Mon, whose questions poured out of her with urgency."Do they know what caused her to pass out yet?"She watched Aon's expression change then, and her spoon paused over the edge of her bowl as a sense of foreboding crept up on her. Mon had no idea how to interpret the pained edge to a look like that. "Phaaw?"Aon exhaled heavily, watery eyes lifting to the ceiling as he blew the air from his cheeks. In the fifteen years she had known the man, Mon didn't think she'd ever seen Aon cry."Phaaw," Mon deadpanned, her tone saturated with increasing concern. "What is it?"That was when he broke the devastating news — in an unnaturally silent kitchen where even Singha lay despondent in his basket, blinking slowly."I didn't want to put this on you until you were home," he began, his tone dripping with anguish. "They found cancer cells in her blood..."Mon's breath stopped in her throat as fear's unforgiving foot struck her in the chest, knocking the air out of her lungs.Out of all the reasons he could have given, a virus or dehydration or not eating enough, cancer was the last thing Mon expected to hear.Aon went on, but his words fell flat upon Mon's ears as she drifted away, her eyes finding the display of artwork she had completed over the years spanning the wall in the living area. Pohn had established her own little gallery, ranging from mere scribbles drawn by the clumsy hand of a child, to intricately detailed portraiture. The final one was a piece Mon had painted, especially for her mum's 45th birthday. Pohn smiled back at her in watercolour, a spectacular likeness; everything from her lightsome smile to that generous sparkle in her eye. But when she arrived at the intensive care unit of the Bangkok medical center, the woman Mon found inside room 3 was a far cry from the woman in the painting, her pallid face obscured by intubation. Her head was shaven on one side and a thick antiseptic gauze dressing concealed the surgical incision there. Mon's heart jammed in her chest as she stared, stricken, at her unconscious mum. Aon placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, speaking gently. "The doctors say that some coma patients can still hear. You should talk to her — I'm just going to use the restroom. I'll be back soon."Mon nodded and pulled a chair up to Pohn's bedside, taking her pale hand into her own. "Mae," she whispered, tremulously. "Can you hear me? It's Mon. I flew back from London to see you." She stroked her thumb across the back of Pohn's hand, relaying all that she'd been doing at the academy. How she'd finished her first assignment of her second, and how much she was enjoying her new position as an art instructor; all the things she hadn't yet had the chance to tell her mum due to the time-zones and the busy nature of her timetable.Then, a memory resurfaced, and Mon reached for her purse. "There's this one kid in my class. Kenji. He's really good at origami." Mon took out the delicate paper gladiolus from her pencil case. "He made me this yesterday — it's a gladiolus, the flower of courage, though I'm sure he won't mind if you have it."Twirling the pink bloom carefully by its stem, Mon thought pensively of her student, and it dawned on her that this pain she was feeling resided too in every fold and crease made in this flower. She didn't know what to do with such a notion, so she set it down on the bedside table, blinking back tears, then found her mum's hand once again.Aon returned with a cold vending machine Lipton for Mon, a welcome relief from the sticky heat inside the room. She turned on the AC to bring the temperature down a little, and as she was doing so, there was a polite knock at the door. Aon opened it, and a short, balding man in a pristine white coat entered the room, a black stethoscope slung around his neck."Ah, good afternoon, Doctor; please, come in," Aon greeted him, then gestured to Mon. "This is my daughter, Mon."Mon inclined her head in a respectful wai."It's a pleasure to meet you," the Doctor smiled. "My name is Doctor Asnee. I'm the oncologist overseeing Kuhn Pohn's care. Would you like to come through to my office? I think it'd be more appropriate to discuss matters there." Mon and Aon followed Doctor Asnee to an office space occupied by two empty chairs facing a large rosewood desk. On its surface was a monitor, several piled notebooks, and a steaming mug. A display of framed certificates spanned a wall, along with a run-of-the-mill landscape photograph depicting a mountain range."Please have a seat," Doctor Asnee insisted, settling at his desk."How serious is my mum's cancer, Doctor?" Mon put to him as she and Aon sat down.He laced his fingers together over the desk, speaking with gravity. "Kuhn Pohn has a type of cancer called B-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia. Which, in layman's terms, occurs when white blood cells in the bone marrow and blood overproduce and mutate abnormally. These cells are currently building up in her body and forcing out the healthy ones. This has ultimately lead to a significant drop in her iron levels, which was likely the cause of her collapse."A jab of something hot and painful lanced through her chest. Mon's head spun, trying to follow and process this downpour of information."My goodness," Aon murmured beside her in equal dismay. "This can be treated, though, right?"Mon didn't like the indiscernible look that drifted across Doctor Asnee's face. "B-ALL is an aggressive form of Leukaemia, especially in adult patients. We would need to intervene with chemotherapy as soon and as early as possible. This will help to eliminate the malfunctioning cells.""Okay," said Mon, anxiously. "But will that cure it?""Everyone battles with it differently,” the Doctor replied. “Some patients go into full remission, yes. But with others, it's not so easily combatted. White blood cells play a crucial role in fighting off infection, but sometimes it can be difficult for them to differentiate between a healthy cell and a cancer cell, which allows them to go unrecognised by the body. Kuhn Pohn is unfortunately past the early stages, making her more likely to relapse and need further treatments such as a stem cell transplant. Tears flooded Mon's eyes, dripping off her nose in a single blink. Doctor Asnee pushed a box of tissues her way with a condoling look. Mon took one and dabbed at her eyes. “Is there no other alternative?""Yes and no,” he replied, and the reservation in his tone along with the slight wince he gave, did nothing to reassure her. "There’s the option of Chimeric Antigen Receptor Therapy, or CAR-T Therapy for short. It involves converting a patient's own white blood cells into these so called CAR-T cells, a special kind of cell that can recognise and fight the cancer. The success rates are extraordinarily promising, however, its complexity and need for certain resources make it one, if not the most expensive treatment in the medical industry, unattainable to the vast majority of patients."Mom was afraid to ask its price, but she did it anyway, with dread swimming around in the pit of her stomach. "Around twenty to twenty-five million baht per patient, and that's not including the price of the treatment for its side effects."Mon’s breath hitched. It was like she could feel the bindings tethering her heart to her chest cavity snapping one by one. Beside her, Aon exhaled slowly, the warmth that sat naturally in his eyes dwindling. "That's...that's a lot."Doctor Asnee concurred with a commiserative nod. "Absolutely, sir. It's unfair that anyone should be excluded from the treatment they need; all I can do is apologise and try my very best to help Kuhn Pohn with the options that are available."Mon shook her head vehemently; It wasn't enough.What if, as Doctor Asnee mentioned, Pohn did not respond to the chemo? After all, she was past the early stages. A safety net like this 'Car-T therapy' could be the difference between life or death. Pohn would move mountains for Mon. She would burn the world down and pull her from the rubble if the roles were reversed, so how then, could Mon could do any less?"I'll find a way to get her that therapy," she asserted, her soft features hardening with determination, in contrast with Doctor Asnee's pitying countenance as he glanced from Mon to Aon. A profound, doubtful silence ensued, but for the click click of the Newton's cradle sitting upon the desk; Mon got up from her seat and excused herself. “I need some air.”She would find a way to get her mum that therapy, even if she had to sell her own organs.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Kirk had lost count of the times he'd been left to deal with the fallout caused by Sam's strict governance, and still, it never seemed to get any easier. The tumult in the seating gallery was palpable, but his calls for order went primarily unheard. He caught Dao's eye, sitting rigidly with a look that suggested both satisfaction and apprehension.Toey and Ae's closest colleagues had launched into impassioned defences, their words overlapping in an unintelligible scramble. Yah and Noi hurried to guide a crestfallen Toey out of the room as one side pointed fingers at Dao, hurling insults, while the other hit back harder in a game of verbal tennis. Kirk felt like a school teacher who couldn't control his class. Dao rose defensively to match the stance everyone had taken, eyes brimming with anger beneath her wire-framed glasses."Nobody should be covering for people who don't value their career. If Boss had found out I had failed to report them, I'd be signing my own dismissal!"Chin scoffed. "Oh, curb the pathetic excuses, Dao. You've been sniffing around Kuhn Ae's position like a ravenous dog for months, and you know it. All you needed to do was delete a tiny portion of the footage, and Boss would be none the wiser. You're an opportunistic bitch!"Dao's jaw dropped, deeply offended."All right, guys, that's enough!" Kirk exclaimed, abandoning all attempts at a collected approach to the situation. It clearly was not working. Kirk cleared his throat as silence ensued, feeling the weight of everyone's collective gaze settling upon him. "I am sure Boss did not make this decision lightly," he told them, a flat-out lie.Then, Ae came rushing down the steps, eyes pleading. "Please, Kuhn Kirk. You have to speak to the Boss. You can't let her do this to us."The idea that Kirk was in any position to 'let' someone like Sam do anything was a novel statement, and he might have laughed under less dire circumstances. "I'm so sorry, but my hands are completely tied," he replied instead, and he meant it earnestly."Have Toey and I not been loyal employees? Does this tiny mistake negate the years of hard work we've poured into this company?" Ae lamented.Kirk winced, feeling guilt breeze through his ribs. "Not in my eyes. But ultimately, Sam is head of this company, and she calls the shots."Anger flared in Ae's eyes, replacing that flicker of hope. Restless, he swiped a hand across his mouth in frustration, then laughed humourlessly."You know what? Fuck the Boss, fuck this company, and fuck you, Kirk!"Everyone in the room stared in disbelief."Kuhn Ae," Kirk warned. "I understand you're upset, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't talk about my wife that way. Have some respect."Ae scoffed. "Why not? The woman is a psychopath. I feel sorry for you, Kirk. Just the thought of being her husband makes me want to slit my wrists."The jibe struck a nerve, obliterating all sympathy Kirk had for the guy. "You have absolutely no right to comment on my personal life, Ae. Now, please leave the premises before I lose my patience."Ae sneered, stepping closer to Kirk to deliver one final blow. "Your wife is a cold, unfeeling woman, and I won't be surprised when your divorce is plastered all over the media when she throws you out, too."The air thick with disbelief and the simmering unrest of all those who felt the injustice of the situation but dared not speak against Sam's authority.Visibly shaken by Ae's tirade, Kirk fought to maintain his composure, but those words were a twisted dagger of truth, hitting far too close to home. He could feel his face getting hotter as every fibre of his pride screamed at him to put Ae in his place. But he held on to his professionalism. Kirk also tried to keep a little perspective on the matter; Ae had just been fired in the most embarrassingly public way possible and was trying to project that hurt on someone else.Fixing Kirk with a glare, Ae flounced out of the room. Kirk followed him just in case he decided to make a detour. Fortunately, all he did was kick over a few display mannequins on the way out. Kirk's mind replayed Ae's rant long after the morning's chaos settled down. He retired to his office, giving Sam a wide berth for a while to let her cool down.He made arrangements for Toey and Ae's severance pay, then stood at the window to gaze down at the activity on the High Street. The morning rush hour had passed, and most of the people milling around on the pavements below were families and tourists.Kirk had a feeling that Pun was behind Sam's sudden impulse to have a child. He knew too well how stubborn and persistent the woman could be when she wanted something. Hell, their entire marriage had been built upon it. However, Sam's attitude when talking about children was concerning; she acted as if children were just pets that people owned. Still, there was another voice inside Kirk's head, a voice that told him it could turn out to be a beautiful thing, that perhaps a child of her own would change her mindset. Kirk turned away from the window and headed to the patisserie across the street for a peace offering. He found Sam in the atelier, perched on a stool at the edge of the drafting table, the clutter of fabric swatches and measuring boards pushed to one side to make room for her laptop. Kirk held up the brown paper bag, and a cardboard cup of hot tea."I brought you brunch."The clicking of the keys beneath Sam's fingers ceased. She turned to face him, her expression inscrutable. The room, with its walls adorned with black-and-white portraits of Sam's models, suddenly seemed too small, the air too thick; he could practically feel the frustration from this morning's incident exuding from her body. Kirk pushed off from the doorway and set the food down on the tablecloth, pushing the cup toward her."It's Chamomile tea to help calm you.""I am calm," Sam asserted, her voice a steadfast shield, but the slight tremor in her hand as she accepted the drink suggested differently.Kirk sighed. "You know, I really don't mean to lecture you, but I'm sure there were a lot less confrontational ways you could have broken that news, ways that didn't involve rounding up everyone in the office."Sam delivered her response to Kirk's criticism with her usual bluntness. "How else will people learn not to disregard my rules if they don't see the consequences? Toey and Ae got their retribution.""Retribution? Is that the right word for it?Sam rolled her eyes, irked. "You're in the wrong profession. You should be a literacy teacher since you're always so concerned with how I word things."Kirk sighed hopelessly. "I'm just saying, retribution implies criminality. I wouldn't say Toey and Ae committed a crime by being in a relationship.""It's done and over with," Sam countered, returning to her typing. "I don't want to hear any more about it. Are there any inherited or transmissible disorders or diseases in your family history?"Kirk frowned. "What?""I'm filling out our IVF application," she explained. "They want a brief idea of our medical histories.""Oh, you found a place already?"Sam gave a flat hum. "The Cradle Center in Pathum Wan. It's the best fertility clinic in the country, which is convenient because it's also the only one with a surrogacy agency.""Surrogacy?""Yes. Is that an issue?" Asked Sam, with a hint of challenge to her tone."No, it's no issue," he assured her earnestly. "But don't you think we should discuss this properly? At home?""There's nothing to discuss," said Sam. "I watched Jim go through the process, and I'm not wasting my time and energy with my head down the toilet for months on end. I have stuff to design, interviews to attend, shows to arrange.""Pregnancy is hard on a woman's body, I get that, and if you'd rather use a surrogate, then that's what we'll do. But what are you planning to do once the baby is born, Sam? Children require a lot of time, love and patience. That would mean taking some time away from work."As he looked at Sam and the determination etched into her features, he realized this, too, was a form of negotiation; she was seeing this as just a technical issue to be solved. Was she even grasping how high the stakes were? The outcome was more precious than any collection they had made together. This was another human's life. The red flag was glaring, and it should have been enough for Kirk to question her. He didn't."We'll hire a nanny," Sam reasoned. "Or you could take paternity leave. Stay-at-home dads are a thing now, you know."The notion of being a stay-at-home dad had never once crossed Kirk's thoughts. He didn't know any stay-at-home fathers, especially not in Thailand, but the idea loomed in front of him, both foreign and intriguing.He didn't hate the idea, not as he began to think about those early milestones that, conventionally, only mothers got to experience."I think I'd like that."Sam's reaction was subtle, her usual guarded demeanour softening just a fraction as she processed his words; she definitely hadn't expected him to agree so eagerly. "Seriously?" she blinked, her tone inflected with surprise."Absolutely. I'd rather take care of our baby myself than have a Nanny raise him...or her. And to answer your question, no, to the inherited diseases.""Great. Well, then, I'll send off the application."Warmth flooded Kirk's eyes. This was a lifeline thrown into the troubled waters of their marriage, a chance to revive their relationship. He had not felt this hopeful in such a long time. ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Amid the chaos of the cluttered space that served as both Mon's bedroom and her makeshift art studio, her paintbrush danced lightly over the surface of the canvas, blending colours with practised ease. The room was a haphazard mess of canvases, tubes of paint, sketching pencils, written records of incomings and outgoings, and sheaves of job resumes.It was well past midnight. The streets were quiet, yet Mon was wide awake, her artist's hand steadfast even as her body begged for rest. Since her mum's diagnosis three weeks ago, Mon had been sending resumes to any and every job opening she could find. So far, Yuki's family had been kind enough to give her work at their furniture store. Mon worked weekdays from 9-5 and spent the remainder of her evening painting online commissions. Orders were coming through slower than Mon would like, but at least it was something.To help shoulder some of the burdens, Aon had started taking longer hours at the taxi company, and by the end of the day, both of them were so bone-achingly exhausted that they rarely even got to see each other.Tomorrow was Saturday, and Mon was finishing up sooner than usual. She didn't want to look too haggard for her hospital visit. So Mon slept into the early afternoon, finished her two commissions, and was getting ready to head to the hospital when her phone began to chime.Her father's name popped up simply as "Daniel". Mon hesitated initially but remembered her previous promise to keep him in the loop. She had texted him a few times on and off, but her busy schedule, paired with the time zone differences, had not given her the opportunity to call him yet.She let it ring until her resolve withered."Hi there, darling," her father's voice came through, gentle. "How is your mum?"Mon pressed her back against the wall, absently toying with the pink pom-pom hooked to her keys. "Powering through, I guess. Her head is healing well; it's the effects of the chemo bothering her now.""I hope you're taking care of yourself, too," said Mr Atkinson compassionately"I'm fine. I took on a job at my friend Yuki's furniture store, and I started selling my art. I'm still looking for more openings, though.""You know, if you're struggling to pay expenses, I'd be more than happy to help", Mr Atkinson suggested.Mon pressed her lips together, mulling over it. She knew her mum's pride was too high to accept her ex-husband's charity, but all that hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things."Phaaw and I can just about cover it. But they're not sure if chemotherapy will be enough," Mon explained, crestfallen. "Her oncologist brought up this alternative treatment with a brighter prognosis, but it costs up to twenty-five million Bhat.""Good lord," said Mr Atkinson, his tone one of deep concern. "All right, well, I can't promise you a fortune. But let me cover half of the sum, help bring the price down."Mon felt tears prickling at the edges of her eyes as the burden of pride and reality wavered in the balance. Her father's offer came from a place of genuine concern, despite the past, and Mon didn't know how to take it."I'll think it over, Dad. I...I want what's best for her, but you know she wouldn't like taking charity, especially not from you.""Yes, I'd expect she wouldn't," Mr Atkinson replied glumly. But try to put that out of your mind for the moment. She doesn't have to know about it, at least not for now."They spoke a while longer, skirting around the deep-rooted tensions that lay like landmines between them. After hanging up, Mon let her head fall back against the wall as she thought everything over. The path forward was clear; Mon needed to take whatever she could if she wanted to scratch even the surface of this enormous expense. Even with her Dad's offer on the table, it would never be enough. She needed to find additional means of making money. The financial burden was a slow-moving beast, and accepting her Dad's support meant little if they couldn't secure the treatment in time.Bangkok Hospital was especially busy during weekend afternoons, and after taking one look at the absolute chaos in the canteen, Mon decided to skip the headache and settle for a vending machine breakfast instead. She fished a few coins from her pocket and inserted them into the machine, punching in the number for the last yoghurt parfait.While she waited for the thing to register, her gaze drifted to a nearby notice board, its surface cluttered with an assortment of flyers and advertisements. Most were typical, promoting local events and yoga classes, but one in particular caught her eye.Mon stepped closer, keeping one hand pressed to the front of the machine.
Stem Cell Surrogacy: Give the Gift of Life
The Cradle Center branches of London, Paris, and Bangkok are inviting young women to take part in a newly approved project that will revolutionise the future of fertility science for all aspiring parents.
Similar to IVF, IVG involves the extraction of stem cells and the reverse engineering into spermatozoa or ova. You will be required to donate bone marrow samples and subsequently gestate the resulting IVG conceived embryo to be adopted by waiting families.
All medical expenses will be covered, with all participants generously compensated for their commitment to our journey.
All applicants must be between the ages of 21 to 30 years of age, have a clear medical history, no previous criminal convictions, no history of drug or alcohol abuse, and no diagnosed or pre-diagnosed mental illnesses.
Please note that only a select number of participants will be shortlisted from each participating country.
Please ensure that you have read and understood the terms and conditions on our website before you apply: 𝐰𝐰𝐰./𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫.𝐨𝐫𝐠It seemed simple enough. All Mon had to do was rent out her womb for a few months. Mon would get the money she wanted, and a family would get the child they wanted — surely there were no losers in that situation?Besides, the chances of actually being selected were pretty slim to none, so it couldn't hurt to put her name forward.
Could it?
The yoghurt parfait finally dropped with a soft thud into the collection slot, breaking her reverie. Mon took a quick picture of the poster, retrieved her parfait, and made her way up to the Oncology ward. ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ High heels clacked in a harsh staccato across the tiles as Kade strutted over to the table, slamming her palms down flat against the surface. The cutlery jolted, and all those but Sam were startled in their seats.Great, Sam thought. Her Friday night was definitely ruined, no thanks to Jim and her big mouth. Sam almost hadn't bothered turning up when the group chat started to fill up with their criticisms, but she had been looking forward to these river prawns, and Sam wouldn't let her knuckleheaded friends get in the way."Have you lost your damn mind, Fuzzy?" Kade threw at her.Sam looked at her, bored already. "Were those theatrics necessary? Your mind is still stuck in your drama series.""You're wasting your breath, Kade. The woman won't be deterred," said Jim as she buckled Adi into a high chair. The baby had taken to mimicking Kade's dramatic entrance, babbling to himself as he slapped his little hands against the chair's tray, sending his sippy cup tumbling to the floor."Oi, Kade. You're such a shitty influence on my son," Jim cursed, bending to retrieve the cup."Look who's talking," Tee remarked; she was casually slumped in her chair with a toothpick dangling from her lips, one leg resting over the other.Kade ignored the both of them, her attention locked completely on Sam. "Have you forgotten what happened to your goldfish? How do you expect to keep one of those alive." Kade pointed to baby Adi."A goldfish is different from a baby," Sam told her, skimming through the menu."Exactly, a goldfish doesn't scream and cry and tether you down for eighteen years," said Jim. "You and Kirk should just buy another goldfish."Kade dumped her clutch bag on the table and threw herself down on a vacant seat. "The wicked witch is snapping her fingers at you again, I presume? Does she know you're taking the surrogacy route? Because that woman lives in the dark ages, she'll definitely complain about that, too.""Maybe," Sam shrugged. "But by the time it's born, she probably won't care anymore. It's the only way she's going to get a grandchild.""So what are you planning to do after it's born, then? Are you going to be a stay-at-home mother, like Jim? I can't picture that." Asked Kade."Kirk has agreed to stay at home," Sam told them, leaving the whole table dumbfounded."Kirk is going to be a house-husband?" Tee spoke, raising an eyebrow."Yes, what about it?""Hey, nothing. It's just...unexpected, that's all." Said Tee."Yeah, you have no idea how envious I am right now," said Jim, resentfully. "Earth hasn't changed a single one of Adi's nappies since the day he was born.""Speaking of," said Tee, pinching her nose. "I think Adi just dropped a nuclear shit, Jim."Jim sighed, turning to her baby who was smiling back at them as if he knew what Tee was talking about. "Seriously? I just changed you.""Eugh, what the hell do you feed this kid?!" Kade complained, mirroring Tee as she pinched her nostrils shut. Sam did the same when the stench reached her."I have an idea," said Tee, tipping the toothpick upwards with her conspiring smirk. "Make Sam change his nappy. Let her get some practice in."Sam glared at her. "Absolutely not.""What are you going to do when your own kid soils itself? Leave it to marinate?" Asked Jim. "They need changing at least six times a day.""I already told you, Kirk will do all that stuff."Jim gave a tsk. "You'll find yourself alone with the baby at some point. Now is a great time to learn."Sam made a face, repulsed by the mere suggestion. "I wouldn't go anywhere near your kid's nappy. Not even with a gas mask and a hazmat suit."While the group continued to argue, Adi's little whines of discomfort escalated into a full-blown screaming fit. Jim gave up, releasing the straps around her baby's trembling shoulders. She lifted him from the chair and grabbed his changing bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "I'll be right back. If the waitress comes over, order me a chicken Khao Soi and a Diet Coke — no ice."As Jim whisked her wailing son away. Kade reached into her handbag and spritzed the air with Miss Dior in an attempt to combat the lingering odour."Marrying Kirk was one thing," said Kade, speaking between spritzed. "But having a child is another. You need to want it for yourself, not your grandmother."Sam rolled her eyes. Ever since she married Kirk, her friends had all been so insistent that she was ruining the chance of being with someone she 'loved'. But what was there to ruin when Sam had never felt any romantic connection to anyone in her life? If she had to choose again between her life's true desire, which was her company's success, or a hypothetical relationship that would never be, she would choose Anuntrakul Limited every time."I've said this to Jim, and I'll say it to you," she told them, fixing them all with a potent look that dared them to keep questioning her. "This is what I want."˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖They found the Cradle Center on the outskirts of the Pathumwan district. A medium-sized building of warm sandstone with a professional yet welcoming appearance, its stained wood awnings were decorated by hanging baskets of seasonal flowers, and the clinic's logo was etched onto the front window, featuring a motif of a flying stork.Usually, nobody spared them a second glance in Central Bangkok. The Pathumwan district was teeming with influential people, so much so that it had become somewhat of an everyday occurrence to pass the rich and famous in the street. The locals were used to it, the tourists too distracted, or too clueless to notice. However, it was still best to take precaution under these circumstances, the last thing Sam and Kirk wanted was something so personal to be splashed all over the media, so Sam and Kirk used the back entrance.The reception staff greeted them with warm smiles and deep wai's before escorting them into the waiting area, a neat, spacious room with plush seating, a coffee machine, and a mini fridge filled with a selection of spring waters in glass bottles.There was one other couple seated in there, perhaps in their late thirties — older than Sam nonetheless — a sophisticated man in a grey suit and tie, Armani, if Sam had to guess, and a woman in black blazer, a white ruffled blouse and a pencil skirt. Sam would have preferred not to engage in conversation — she didn't come here to socialise, but her husband couldn't seem to help himself.The strangers already had one child conceived by the clinic and were hoping to have one more. They mentioned that their son was now walking, and if the beaming grin that appeared on Kirk's face was any indication, it was supposed to be an exciting thing."We can't wait to experience that," said Kirk. "It must be a magical moment."Sam shrugged, sharing none of the enthusiasm."Everyone learns to walk eventually, it's not exactly something to write songs about. But I guess I'll be impressed if it learns to play an instrument, or gets into a good university."It was clear that the couple had no idea what to say to that comment and that Sam had absolutely no intention of filling the silence that followed, so Kirk chimed in with a, "she's just kidding, by the way."The woman gave an unconvinced, slightly concerned smile. "Well, the sense of pride you feel when your baby does even the simplest thing is indescribable. I suppose you'll soon be finding out what I mean."Kirk nodded. "Yes, we're very excited."Sam glared at Kirk warningly, uncomfortable with the way he was continuing to air out their personal lives to the first strangers he saw, especially after taking the extra steps to get here. Fortunately, the couple didn't pry, but instead prolonged the dull conversation by subjecting them to photos of their son."This our little miracle baby. We're hoping to give him a little sister." The woman held out her phone for them to view, as Kirk showered them with compliments, Sam leaned forward in her chair, squinting at the image on the screen. Usually, when her grandmother forced her to look at pictures of strangers' babies, she told her what she knew she wanted to hear. But Sam had never seen a baby with such a big forehead, and the words tumbled out quicker than she could catch them."Is it normal for a kid to have a forehead that large?"The woman retracted her phone, affronted."Sam," Kirk chided, mortified. He immediately tried to save face, but it was too late, and the four of them had to stew in the uncomfortable silence until it was finally broken by one of the clinicians, finally leading the couple out of the room.Kirk turned to Sam the second they were alone, fixing her with a disapproving look."What?""What do you mean 'what?' You told those people that their son had a big forehead.""Were we looking at the same picture?"Kirk scrubbed two fingers across his chin. "It doesn't matter, Sam. When it comes to people's children, you're supposed to lie. It's a general rule of thumb.""I know. It just surprised me. I hope mine doesn't come out looking like that.""Our baby will be perfect. With a normal-sized head." Kirk assured her.Sam narrowed her eyes and leaned forward to place her thumb and index finger against Kirk's forehead as if to measure it. "Hm, are you sure about that?""Hey!" Kirk pushed her hand away but couldn't fully suppress the amused smile tugging at his lips. "What exactly are you trying to say, Samanun?!"At that moment, a woman in a crisp white coat appeared around the corner and called their names with an amiable smile. The consultation room was spaciously laid out. The desk in the center hosted a minimal setup, an iMac monitor thoughtfully angled towards where clients sat, and some neatly organised stacks of information packs piled at the edge. Sam and Kirk settled in the two upholstered chairs, and the Clinician angled hers toward them."It's great to meet you, Kuhn Kirk, Kuhn Sam. My name is Doctor Ying, and I'll be supporting you on your fertility journey," she told them. "This will be a general consultation for you to ask questions and let me know your preferences.""We want to hire a surrogate," Sam blurted. "Can you give us one as soon as possible?""We can certainly look into that," said Doctor Ying. If Sam's bluntness fazed her, she didn't show it. "But there are many different options to consider when it comes to surrogacy. Do you and your husband wish to have a biological child? That would mean harvesting your eggs, fertilising them in our laboratories, and implanting the resulting embryo into the womb of your chosen surrogate.""I don't know," Sam replied, unsure. "Will it hurt?""It's wouldn't be painless. And you'd need to take some time off work to recover from the procedure—""Then forget it." Sam waved off the idea. "Can't we just use the surrogate's eggs instead? That would be a lot faster and simpler, right? Let's do that.""Hold on, Sam," Kirk interjected, concerned. "Don't you want our baby to resemble you?""I don't care about that. I'm not putting myself through any unnecessary surgeries. Don't worry; it'll still look like you."Kirk shook his head. "The whole point of having a child together is that we do it together. I would prefer our baby to have your DNA than a stranger's.""And I would prefer the latter," Sam argued. "It's all perfectly fine for you. Kirk, you're not the one who'll be getting butchered. I'm not doing that."Kirk sighed in disappointment but acquiesced, taking Sam's hand. "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to pressure you. If that's what you want...""First, we will need to check the viability of Kuhn Kirk's sperm cells just to make sure the process has a chance of success," Doctor Ying explained."After that's completed, we can certainly grant you access to our surrogate database."Doctor Ying turned her seat toward a set of medical drawers. She took out a sealed vial and offered it to Kirk, whose face had turned scarlet red."There are some private rooms just down the corridor, to your left. Please provide us with a sample and hand it in at our lab desk. Our specialists should take up to three days to make a full report."Kirk sheepishly accepted the vial, shuffling from the room in a fluster.Doctor Ying clicked her pen and reached for a little appointment card. "In the meantime, we'll schedule a date to discuss the results. Does Monday work?"Sam opened her bag to retrieve her planner, her eyes scanning past the reserved dates.
Textile fair.
Virtual Meeting with international suppliers.
Fabric sourcing trip to Malaysia.
Charity gala event.
Fitting session for red-carpet event.
Editorial shoot with Vogue.
"We're booked up all week, unfortunately," said Sam as her eyes skimmed across the dates."If it's inconvenient for you, we can always discuss the results over the phone," suggested Doctor Ying."Perfect," said Sam. "How soon after that can you get us a surrogate?""Assuming all is well with your husband's sperm health, I can give you access to our surrogate database the same day." Doctor Ying replied.Sam nodded and swapped her planner for her phone. "This stuff is mostly Kirk's business, so I'll give you his number." ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ In the days that followed, Sam could practically feel anxiety rolling off her husband as they waited for the test results. At work, he was so frustratingly distracted that Sam was compelled to call the clinic and demand to know the results immediately. But the call eventually did come, and it was not the news either of them wanted nor expected to hear.Kirk was seated at his desk, staring fixedly into the depths of his mug, when Sam invited herself into his office. "Have you looked through some of those applications Noi gave you yet?"Kirk said nothing."Hello? Is there anybody home?"Sam stooped ever so slightly to get a better view of his face. She wasn't the expert in reading facial cues, but she knew that this particular look did not belong in the expressive repertoire of someone as annoyingly cheery as Kirk. Even as he drifted out of his daze, it remained there on his face."I just got off the phone with the clinic," Kirk murmured, finally meeting her eyes. "I...they told me I'm sterile, Sam." ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ Out of all the desperate jobs openings Mon had applied for since her mum's diagnosis, the stem cell baby experiment was the very last she'd expected to land. Convinced that she wouldn't hear anything more about it, Mon had pretty much forgotten about the whole thing. She hadn't even bothered to save their number to her contacts. It wasn't until she checked her voicemail one evening as she was getting ready for bed that she remembered"Good morning, Kuhn Kornkamon. This is The Bangkok Cradle Center. We are contacting you regarding your application for our IVG project. I'm pleased to inform you that your profile has been approved to join the surrogate database. Please give us a call any time this week between seven AM and five PM. If we have not heard back from you within that time frame, your place will be offered to another candidate. Thank you, and goodbye."Mon thought of calling Yuki, but discarded that idea as soon as it came. She was too close to Nop, and if Nop and his saviour complex got wind of this, then it would only cause more problems. The only friend Mon could trust right now was on a different continent. Despite it being just short of seven in the morning, Mon face-timed Ruby. She should have been on her way to a class, but evidently, she was skipping again, for when she finally answered, Mon could only see her eyes peering over her bedsheets.Mon dumped the situation on her all at once."Well?" She nudged anxiously."I could probably come up with a few more fitting descriptions for this if I weren't still half-dead, but I think stark-raving mad will just about do," said Ruby, her lilt groggy with sleep. The picture on the screen shifted and pixelated as she sat in bed."You don't think I should do it?" Mon feared."I never said that," replied Ruby, raking her fingers through her tousled hair. "Look, Mon, I'm not in your position, and I can't even begin to imagine what I'd do if I were. But if I had to guess, I think I would take the opportunity while I could, crazy as it may be. It's a scientific breakthrough, right? So it's got to pay a decent few quid, right?"Mon nodded, feeling slightly relieved by her roommate's open-mindedness. "I know it wouldn't be a low amount. I mean, they're making life from bone marrow.""Wacky shit," Ruby concurred, mid-yawn. "I take it you haven't spoken to anyone else about this?""I didn't think I'd actually get approved for this. I barely even thought about it in general — but now it's suddenly so real.""Do you plan to tell anyone else?"Mon let out the ghost of a laugh, vehemently shaking her head. "Absolutely not.""Good, because it's fucking mental. I know my folks would hit the roof," said Ruby, honestly. "But seriously, Mon. Not to get all mushy-mushy on you, but whatever you decide to do. I'll always be here for you, okay? Your body, your choice, and all that."Singha clambered onto the bed, the stub of his tail waving as he jumped onto his hind legs. Mon checked the time at the top of the screen. It was his feeding time, and he could probably do with a walk at some point, too."Thanks, Ruby," said Mon, raising her voice slightly as Singha began to bark. "I'll call them tomorrow!" ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ "I understand this was not the news you were expecting," said Doctor Ying in sympathy as Sam and Kirk settled before her desk. "But there are other options to consider. You could go down the route of sperm donation. Or you may be interested in opting for an alternative treatment called IVG.""IVG?" Sam frowned."In-vitro gametogenesis," Doctor Ying elaborated. "It's a relatively new fertility treatment. The research has been in development for many years, but it was officially approved for implementation last year."We recently started up a programme looking for participants willing to donate stem cells and carry IVG-conceived babies for hopeful parents, so you've come to us just in time to be offered our newest package.""What does it involve?" Sam asked.The Clinician smiled, more than happy to explain as she ripped off a piece of paper from her notepad and proceeded to draw a diagram. "We would take bone marrow stem cells from donor A, and bone marrow cells from donor B. We then reverse-engineer them into IPSC cells, placing them into an embryonic state."Then, using gene editing technology, we would inoculate the cells with a specifically coded RNA, which will activate the embryonic genes within that cell while deactivating the old cells. After that, we expose them to a growth factor called GDNF which will induce the cell to convert into spermatogonial cells. A similar process will be done to stimulate donor B's sample into egg cells. After that, fertilisation, and the resulting embryo will be implanted into your surrogate's womb.""Are you saying there's still hope for us, then?" Asked Kirk. "Using this bone-marrow method?""Unfortunately, IVG is only possible with female stem cells," the Clinician told Kirk regretfully. "It requires utilising your surrogate's stem cells. Our labs are working hard on changing that in the future, but so far, converting male stem cells to sperm or ova has not proved successful."Kirk nodded slowly, his shoulders sagging in disappointment. Sam frowned, her brain completely fried."Okay, so, if I understood all that science spiel correctly...this means the baby would be biologically mine, but also biologically another woman's? It wouldn't have a father?""That's correct," the Clinician informed them. "We would just extract a bone marrow sample from your hip, and from your surrogate's hip. I can't lie to you and say it won't be completely painless, but the recovery period is at least a lot faster than egg harvesting."Sam nodded, the idea growing more and more favourable the longer she thought about it; she supposed she could deal with a little pain.Kirk, however, wasn't entirely on board."It sounds impossible," he said, apprehensive. "Like something from a sci-fi novel."The Clinician gave a nod. "It's definitely remarkable. Your baby would be one of just a handful of children born from this process.""Count us in," said Sam, astonished."Wait a moment, Sam," Kirk interjected. "We don't know how much this is going cost – or even if it's safe! It's never been done before, what if something goes wrong?" Kirk ran his hands firmly across the tops of his thighs, visibly perturbed. "No, I think we'd be better off with a sperm donor. The chances of success are probably much higher, and we won't need to fork out ridiculous amounts of money."Sam had to refrain from rolling her eyes at that. If only he'd cared that much about money when he almost bankrupted Anuntrakul Limited.
It's in the past. Don't dredge up that old grudge now.
"How much will it cost, doctor?" Kirk enquired."It varies, but my estimate would be around ten million baht per round, possibly another ten million on top of that to cover your surrogate's compensation and medical expenses. Could be more, could be less.""It won't make a dent anyway," said Sam, unconcerned."Even so, there's no point spending a fortune on such a new treatment," Kirk opined. "Is there a database for sperm donors, Doctor?""There is, but I'm afraid the protocol is different when it comes to sperm donors – since the conception process is a lot less invasive, it's all anonymous. The only details we can disclose to you would be ethnicity, eye colour, and hair colour. You won't find photographs or other personal information, neither would get to meet the donor either as you would your surrogate.""See. Isn't this IVG thing a better option than using the cells of someone we can't meet face-to-face? Someone we can't even see a picture of? He could be a psychopath, or really ugly, or god forbid, he could have bad fashion sense." Sam paused, then added as an afterthought, "Unless it's the same-sex conception thing that you don't like?""Well, it's definitely a concern," Kirk replied tensely. "I mean, it defies all the known laws of nature."Sam could feel her frustration with Kirk's dissent rising inside her chest. "Did you, or did you not say you'd rather the kid have my DNA than a total stranger's, or am I losing my memory?""I know, Sam. But—" He cut himself off, sighed, then looked to Doctor Ying. "Can you at least understand where I'm coming from, Doctor?"She smiled empathetically. "Your concerns are valid, Kuhn Kirk. But we have put in years of rigorous testing and research to get to where we are now. I can assure you both that every care has been undertaken to ensure that your child develops at the same rate as any naturally conceived baby. We do not take gambles when it comes to the well-being of children."Kirk contemplated this for a moment, then finally acquiesced. "All right. I trust your judgement, Doctor. All I want is for Sam and me to have a happy, healthy family."Doctor Ying smiled warmly. "I'll send you an email with a key number. It will take you to our surrogate database. You'll find a wide selection of the best-suited candidates on there; just give us a call when you have made your decision, and we will go from there."Oh, and before we conclude, I should have clarified this before," Doctor Ying added. "Due to the fact that all biological females carry only the X chromosome, your baby will be a guaranteed female at birth; there is no possibility of conceiving a male child with this technology."Fine by me, thought Sam. If she was going to saddle herself with a kid, let it be a kid she could put in pretty dresses."As long as she's healthy, I don't mind," said Kirk in earnest.
Yeah, and that too.
Obviously.
˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ The following evening, Sam and Kirk sat down in the living room to browse the database. They lounged in their pyjamas on the grey, plush sofa, the coffee table cluttered with old designs, swatches of fabrics, and cups of half-finished coffee. With his laptop balanced on his lap, Kirk leaned back against the cushions, massaging his temples. Outside, the sky had darkened. The pool lights had activated, filtering in through the floor-to-ceiling windows to bathe the lounge in aquarium blue light. They'd been sitting here for hours now, and still had yet to come to an agreement."Why don't we just go with this lady?" Kirk suggested, pointing to one of the profiles on the screen. "She's married with a child of her own, and gave birth to IVF conceived twins last year."Sam shook her head. 'Thanya Kongsakul' was not ugly, but she was nothing special either. "We're not doing IVF. We're doing IVG. The baby will inherit the surrogate's genetics as well as mine, and I want a beautiful one; next page."Kirk jabbed the arrow key to load the following page, the motion brisk. "Look, Sam." His tone was earnest but marked with frustration. "We can't just design a child like we would a dress or a suit. We need to look beyond appearances. One of these women is going to carry our child. We need someone who—"Sam wasn't listening. She had zeroed in on one particular profile; the first one to come up. She was a young woman, around Sam's own age, with cascading chestnut-brown hair, soft doe eyes, and a lightsome smile. "Click on her profile."Kirk's eyes shifted to the candidate Sam was pointing at. "Kornkamon Atkinson." He clicked on her name, but shook his head upon reading the first few details. "She's a twenty one year old student. We need someone who has been a surrogate before, someone who is already familiar with it.""Says here that she studies at the Royal Academy of Arts," said Sam, her fond tone a stark contrast to Kirk's. "Beautiful and talented.""And British," Kirk pointed out, without enthusiasm."Half -British," she corrected. "So what?""Sam, we live under the public eye. If the baby is born with western features, people are going to notice. And then what'll happen to your relationship with your grandmother if it gets out that our baby is not biologically mine? It'll be treated like a scandal. We're already taking a risk, let's not make it any harder.""I've seen photos of my Phaaw. I look nothing like him either, and nobody cared," said Sam with a shrug. "You're just overthinking it.""I think you might be under-thinking it.""It's Kuhn Kornkamon, or nobody." The finality in her voice left no room for negotiation. Kirk let out a long-suffering sigh and after a long moment stewing under Sam's hard stare, he eventually surrendered."All right. But if all of this goes awry, then don't say I didn't try to warn you." ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖