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I used to believe love alone made a family. That was before I became a surrogate for my sister—and learned how fragile love becomes when expectations start to shape its edges.
Rachel and I were inseparable growing up. Two halves of the same heartbeat. We shared everything—secrets, clothes, reckless choices, and dreams of raising our children side by side. But life didn’t follow her script. Her first miscarriage shattered her. The second dimmed her light. By the third, she stopped smiling altogether.
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