When I was seventeen, I made a marriage pact with William Jones. This Christmas, I’m coming to collect.
As the owner of a lucrative graphic design firm, I have everything a girl could want.
Except for a baby.
If your biological clock starts to tick in your early thirties, by forty, it’s a death knell. I can practically hear the bells clanging in my head as my ovaries shrivel up and die.
I’ve considered fostering or adopting. I’ve even visited fancy sperm banks. Places where y...
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When I was seventeen, I made a marriage pact with William Jones. This Christmas, I’m coming to collect.
As the owner of a lucrative graphic design firm, I have everything a girl could want.
Except for a baby.
If your biological clock starts to tick in your early thirties, by forty, it’s a death knell. I can practically hear the bells clanging in my head as my ovaries shrivel up and die.
I’ve considered fostering or adopting. I’ve even visited fancy sperm banks. Places where you can choose a donor based on everything from his IQ to his body type, hair and eye color, spirit animal, and which Hogwarts house he’d be sorted in.
It's not for me. Call me old-fashioned, but I want the baby and the father. Unfortunately, I’m running out of time, and Mr. Right is nowhere to be found. But I can’t stop thinking about a pact I made at seventeen. William Jones and I vowed that if we were still single at forty, we’d marry each other.
I think maybe it’s time to return to Mercury Ridge.
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