The Donor’s Promise

The Donor’s Promise

A Contemporary Romance About Trust, Parenthood, and Finding Love

Where It Was Never Expected

Werner Stejskal

More and more women are choosing to have children later in life. For many, education, career ambitions, financial security, or personal goals take priority during their younger years. By the time they feel ready to become mothers, however, they may discover that their natural fertility has begun to decline, making the journey to parenthood more challenging than they had expected.

At the same time, family structures have become increasingly diverse. Some women decide they would rather raise a child independently than wait for the right life partner. Others simply have no desire for a long-term relationship but still dream of experiencing motherhood. Lesbian women, whether single or in committed relationships, also seek the joy and fulfillment of raising children together. Although their circumstances differ, they all share one common need: they require a sperm donor.

Once a woman begins exploring her options, she soon discovers that the conventional route usually involves a fertility clinic and, in many cases, assisted reproductive procedures such as IVF. These treatments can be extremely expensive and, for many, feel surprisingly impersonal.

“I wish I knew more about the donor,” one woman might say after her first consultation.

“The clinic provides medical information,” the counsellor explains, “but his identity remains anonymous.”

For some women, that level of anonymity is perfectly acceptable. For others, it raises important questions. Who is he as a person? What kind of character does he have? Would a future child one day want to know something about their biological father? These are deeply personal concerns that cannot always be answered through a clinical profile or a few pages of medical history.

As a result, many women begin looking for a more personal alternative. They hope to meet a donor themselves, have open conversations, ask questions, and decide whether they feel comfortable moving forward. The possibility of knowing the donor — at least to some extent — offers reassurance that an anonymous process cannot always provide.

The internet has made such connections easier than ever before. Dedicated donor websites, social media groups, and online communities now bring prospective mothers and potential donors together from across the world. This growing trend has created opportunities that scarcely existed a generation ago.

Yet it also introduces significant risks. Not everyone online is honest about their intentions, medical history, or personal circumstances. Misunderstandings can easily arise if expectations are not discussed in advance, and legal rights and responsibilities vary widely between countries and jurisdictions.

Finding a donor through online media can therefore be a rewarding option, but it is one that requires careful thought, thorough research, and sensible precautions. Trust should be earned rather than assumed, and every step should be approached with openness, clear communication, and an understanding of the medical, legal, and emotional implications involved.

It is hardly surprising that sperm donors remain in short supply. In many countries, donors cannot be paid beyond limited expense reimbursements, and donating through a fertility clinic is often a highly anonymous and clinical process. For many men, there is little personal incentive to participate.

Those who do donate through clinics are usually motivated by altruism. They genuinely want to help women who are unable to conceive naturally and take satisfaction in knowing they may have enabled one or more families to experience parenthood. Others simply appreciate the idea of passing on their genes without seeking a parental role.

For some men, there is another consideration. If both parties are comfortable with it, they may prefer natural insemination over artificial methods. From their perspective, this offers a more intimate and enjoyable experience than providing a semen sample in the sterile environment of a clinic. They may view this as one of the few tangible benefits they receive from helping someone achieve their dream of becoming a parent.

Of course, such arrangements require complete honesty, informed consent, and a clear understanding of expectations. Both parties should discuss medical testing, legal implications, future contact, and parental responsibilities before proceeding. While direct donation can be a more personal alternative to the clinical route, it also demands a higher level of trust, transparency, and mutual respect.

---

I am a private sperm donor. At the time I wrote this, I had already helped bring two children into the world.

Ironically, I never intended to become a private donor. My first step was toward a fertility clinic. I underwent every medical examination they required, tested negative for every infectious disease, passed the genetic screening, and was accepted. The paperwork was sitting on my desk, waiting for my signature.

I never signed it. The whole process felt cold. Anonymous. Clinical. I would become donor number whatever, my sperm frozen in a tank, my identity reduced to a page of statistics. Somewhere, years later, a child might be born without either the mother or I ever knowing anything meaningful about one another. That wasn’t what I wanted.

If I was going to help create a life, I wanted to know the woman who would carry that child. Equally, I wanted her to know exactly who I was.

Perhaps that attitude came from my own life. Ever since high school, women had noticed me. At first I assumed it was because I was reasonably good-looking. Later I discovered that wasn’t the main reason.

“You actually listen,” one girl once told me.

“You make women feel safe,” another said.

Whether they were right or simply flattering me hardly mattered. Female attention was never something I lacked. There was always someone wanting to spend time with me, and because of that I never felt the need to settle into one permanent relationship. By my early thirties I was still single, financially independent, and perfectly happy with my life.

So I created my own website. Everything was there. Recent photographs. Videos. My medical results. Genetic screening. Family history. My education. My hobbies. Even a draft legal agreement that I expected every candidate to review with her own lawyer before signing. I wanted complete transparency. If a woman was considering having my child, she deserved to know who I was.

The enquiries started arriving almost immediately. Some were thoughtful. Some were emotional. A few were downright bizarre. Very quickly I realised that choosing the right recipient would be just as important as the women choosing me.

I developed a few rules. The first was absolute. I would not become involved with women who already had male partners. I’ve seen enough jealousy in my life to know I wanted no part of it.

The second was practical. Nature has its limits, and I wasn’t prepared to spend years trying to achieve the impossible. I wanted to give every arrangement a realistic chance of success.

There was another rule that surprised some people. I declined requests from lesbian couples. That wasn’t because I had anything against them. Our expectations were simply different.

Most couples wanted a donor. I wanted a relationship. Not a lifelong romance. Not marriage. But if conception took six months or even a year, we’d spend three days together every month. Add those days together and we’d probably spend more time in each other’s company than some husbands and wives.

Let’s be honest about it. I was doing someone an extraordinary favour. Helping create a child is one of the most intimate gifts a man can give. I didn’t think it unreasonable that the journey should also be enjoyable for me. If there had to be trust, friendship, attraction and, eventually, intimacy, then I wanted those things to be genuine, not simply endured because there was a goal at the end.

That is why I never accepted every enquiry that landed in my inbox. I wasn’t looking for just any woman. I was looking for the right one.

---

I was ready for another challenge. Over the previous weeks I had worked my way through many enquiries. Some were sincere, some unrealistic, and a few disappeared as quickly as they had appeared. Eventually I narrowed the list to a handful of women who seemed genuinely committed.

One of my own rules was to give preference to women who lived in another state. I didn’t like the idea of several donor-conceived children growing up in the same city without knowing they were biologically related. The larger the distance between families, the smaller the chance of an accidental encounter years later.

After careful consideration, one applicant stood out. She was in her early thirties and a teacher of mathematics at a university on the east coast. Intelligent, articulate, organised, and refreshingly straightforward. Our emails quickly turned into lengthy conversations, and before long we agreed that we should meet in person. Chemistry mattered just as much as compatibility on paper.

If we decided to proceed, I would fly over every month for as long as it took to achieve a pregnancy. Experience had taught me that timing was everything. I always insisted on trying on three consecutive days during the fertile window to maximise the chances of conception.

She would monitor her basal body temperature every morning and keep track of the other signs of ovulation. Once everything pointed to the right time, I would book the next available flight.

From the beginning, we agreed that she would reimburse my travel expenses, including flights and hotel accommodation. I insisted on complete transparency. Every dollar was accounted for, every receipt carefully kept. Money was never the reason I did this, and I wanted there to be no misunderstanding about that.

Our first meeting was arranged for a Wednesday afternoon at a coffee shop she had chosen near the university. She would come straight from work.

I arrived twenty minutes early. Old habit. It gave me time to look around, choose a good table, order a coffee, and quietly wonder whether the woman I had exchanged many emails with would be the same person when she walked through the door.

The coffee shop was right beside the university campus and buzzing with students. Laptops covered nearly every table, conversations blended into a constant hum, and the aroma of fresh coffee filled the air.

I had flown in barely an hour earlier and come straight from the airport, suitcase and all. It was a tight schedule, but deliberately so. I hadn’t checked into a hotel because I hadn’t yet committed to staying. If the meeting didn’t go well, I intended to thank Tatjana for her time, wheel my suitcase back to the airport, and catch the next flight home. No point wasting anyone’s time.

I had been sitting for only a few minutes when she walked through the door. She paused for a moment, scanning the room.

At the same time, I recognised her immediately. Good, I thought. At least the photos were recent.

She spotted me almost at once, smiled, and walked over.

“Ronald?”

“That’s me.”

“Tatjana.”

We shook hands warmly before she sat opposite me. She ordered a cappuccino, and once it arrived and the waitress had disappeared, she glanced at my suitcase.

“You came straight from the airport?”

“I did.”

“And you haven’t checked into your hotel yet?”

I smiled.

“I haven’t booked one yet.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly.

“So you’re keeping your options open?”

“Exactly. If either of us feels this isn’t right, I’ll simply head back to the airport.”

She laughed softly.

“I like that. Honest.”

Most of the practical matters had already been covered in weeks of emails. Medical tests, legal agreements, expectations, travel arrangements — we had discussed them all in detail. This meeting wasn’t about logistics. It was about the two of us.

“I’ve read everything you’ve written,” I said. “But emails only tell part of the story. I’d like to know the person behind them.”

She nodded.

“So tell me,” I continued. “Why are you single?”

For the first time she hesitated. She wrapped both hands around her coffee cup before answering.

“My first relationship was in high school,” she began. “He was a lovely guy, but far more serious than I was. Even then I knew I wanted to study. A long-term relationship wasn’t part of my plans.”

She smiled apologetically.

“I suppose that sounds rather selfish.”

“It sounds honest,” I replied.

“During my final year at university I met someone else. That relationship lasted longer, but eventually he became frustrated. I was always studying, always preparing for the next qualification, always chasing another goal.”

“And he wanted more time.”

She nodded.

“I couldn’t give it to him. I completed my degree, then continued studying so I could teach at university. After that came another qualification, and then another. Before I realised it, several years had passed.”

She looked out of the window for a moment, watching students crossing the campus.

“I’ve been teaching for a number of years now. I could continue climbing the academic ladder and eventually become a full professor.” She smiled faintly. “But somewhere along the way I realised I’d achieved almost everything I’d planned professionally.”

“And?”

“And I was still going home to an empty apartment.”

She looked back at me.

“I suddenly understood that if I didn’t change my priorities soon, I might miss my chance to become a mother. Careers can wait. Biology doesn’t.”

There was no self-pity in her voice. She simply stated it as a mathematical fact. For a woman who spent her life surrounded by equations, it was perhaps the one problem that had no elegant solution.

“All right,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Let’s talk about how this could actually work.”

Tatjana nodded.

“You’re already keeping a daily fertility chart and taking your temperature every morning. Once your fertile window approaches, you let me know and I fly over. I stay for about a week, then return home.”

She nodded again.

“That’s certainly possible.”

“It is,” I agreed. “But it also means a return flight every month, hotel bills, airport transfers, and hoping your ovulation happens exactly when expected. Nature doesn’t always stick to a timetable.”

She smiled.

“No, it doesn’t.”

“So I’ve been thinking about another option. Since nobody is waiting for me back in the West, I could simply rent a small apartment here and stay for as long as necessary. It would probably cost more overall, but it would be much more practical. If your cycle shifts by a few days, I’m already here.”

She studied me for a moment.

“You’d really stay that long?”

“I can. My work is entirely online. As long as I have a laptop and an internet connection, I can work from anywhere.”

She tilted her head.

“You mean assessing future applicants?”

“Exactly.”

She laughed.

“I suppose I’m one of your case studies.”

“In a manner of speaking.”

I smiled.

“You know how much correspondence we’ve had over the last few weeks. That’s fairly typical. There are emails, video calls, medical records to review, legal agreements to discuss, and endless questions to answer. It’s a surprisingly time-consuming process. And because I never know how long it will take for a pregnancy to occur with one recipient, it makes sense to continue evaluating future enquiries in the background.”

She slowly stirred the foam on her cappuccino.

“Actually,” she said after a moment, “there’s a third option.”

“Oh?”

“I live alone in a rather large house. Most of it is empty.” She shrugged. “You could simply stay there. There’s a spare bedroom, so you wouldn’t need to rent an apartment.”

I looked at her, surprised.

“Are you serious?”

“Of course. It would solve the accommodation problem.”

She grinned.

“There is one warning, though.”

“Which is?”

“I don’t cook.”

I laughed.

“Then you’ve just become very lucky.”

“Oh?”

“I’m a good cook.”

She laughed with me.

“Perfect. I’ll provide the house, you provide the meals.”

“That sounds like a fair arrangement.”

For a moment we simply looked at each other.

“So?” she asked. “Are we good?”

I nodded.

“I am, if you are.”

“I am.”

She glanced at my suitcase.

“Did you bring enough with you, or will you have to fly home and collect the rest of your things?”

“I’ve got everything I need for now,” I replied. “Anything else I can buy here. Clothes are easy enough to replace.”

She stood and picked up her handbag.

“Then I suppose that’s settled.”

I rose, taking hold of my suitcase.

“Let’s go.”

She smiled.

“My car is parked at the university. It’s only a short walk.”

Together we stepped out of the coffee shop and joined the stream of students crossing the campus. Less than an hour earlier we had been two strangers meeting for the first time. Now we were heading to the same house, about to begin an arrangement that neither of us could predict, but which both of us hoped would eventually lead to a new life.

---

Tatjana’s house stood in a quiet, leafy suburb not far from the river. Tall eucalyptus trees shaded the streets, and the neighbourhood had the peaceful atmosphere of a place where people rarely felt the need to lock their doors during the day.

She showed me to a spacious guest bedroom directly opposite hers. It came with its own bathroom, and after explaining a few practical details — the alarm system, where the spare keys were kept, and how the temperamental hot-water system occasionally behaved — we decided to stretch our legs before dinner.

We spent the next hour wandering through the neighbourhood. The conversation was light and relaxed, drifting from the university to travel, books and the differences between the west and the east coast. By the time darkness settled over the suburb, we were both hungry and chose a small Chinese restaurant only a few blocks from the house.

Over plates of honey chicken and vegetables, accompanied by a bottle of Shiraz, our conversation gradually became more serious.

“So,” I said, setting my glass down, “where are you in your cycle?”

She smiled awkwardly.

“Straight to business?”

“I suppose I should know.”

She nodded.

“If everything stays on schedule, my fertile window should begin in about two or three days.”

“That works rather well.”

“It does.”

For a moment neither of us spoke.

“There is something we should probably discuss before we get there,” I said quietly.

She looked at me expectantly.

“I’ve learned that every woman approaches this differently. Some prefer to keep everything as detached and clinical as possible. They simply want to achieve a pregnancy and minimise any emotional involvement. Others feel more comfortable if the process develops naturally between two people who trust each other.”

Tatjana listened without interrupting.

“I don’t assume either approach,” I continued. “I’d rather understand what you’re comfortable with. The most important thing is that we both know each other’s expectations and boundaries from the beginning.”

She lowered her eyes to her wine glass for a moment before answering.

“I’ve thought about it a great deal,” she admitted. “I don’t want this to feel like a medical procedure. If we’re going to spend weeks or even months together, I’d much rather we enjoy each other’s company than constantly feel self-conscious.”

She looked back at me.

“So,” she asked with a small smile, “what do we do?”

“We communicate. If something makes either of us uncomfortable, we say so. No guessing, no assumptions.”

She seemed relieved.

“I can live with that.”

“So can I.”

With that settled, I deliberately changed the subject.

“Now for a much more important question.”

She laughed.

“What could possibly be more important?”

“What do you like to eat?”

She looked puzzled.

“I was planning to start cooking tomorrow,” I explained. “You’ll be at the university all day, while I’ll have plenty of free time. I thought I’d make breakfast before you leave and have dinner ready when you come home.”

“You enjoy cooking?”

“Very much.”

She smiled.

“Then you’re already making yourself indispensable.”

“The first thing I’ll do tomorrow is join the gym I spotted around the corner. After breakfast I’ll work out, then buy groceries on the way back.”

“I was wondering how you planned to get around.”

“I’ve been thinking about hiring a car.”

“You probably won’t need one,” she replied. “Everything is close.”

She was right.

After considering it for a day or two, I abandoned the idea of renting a car altogether. Instead, I bought a sturdy electric tricycle. It was perfect for trips to the supermarket, the gym, and anywhere else in the neighbourhood. The house, the university, the river, and the local shops were all within easy reach.

Before long, I found myself settling into a routine that felt surprisingly natural — as though I had been living there for much longer than a few days.

---

Two mornings later, I barely managed to open my eyes, struggling to rouse myself from sleep. The thought of getting up to prepare breakfast felt heavy on my limbs. Just as I was about to surrender to the warmth of the bed, I heard Tatjana call softly from her room, “Ronald, come.”

I rose slowly and made my way to her, greeted by her radiant smile filled with excitement. “My temperature is up,” she said, her voice brimming with anticipation.

“That’s wonderful,” I replied warmly. “Let me freshen up quickly — I’ll be right there.”

Morning energy always felt gentler and more promising than the weariness of evening. I went to brush my teeth and complete my morning ablutions, returning within ten minutes to find Tatjana already nestled back in bed, a soft glow of anticipation in her eyes.

I slipped out of my pajamas and slid beneath the blanket beside her. She was ready, her presence reassuring and inviting. I leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to the delicate curve of her neck, then let my head sink into the lush cascade of her hair. Tatjana, seasoned and confident, moved with practiced grace to guide us into harmony.

I kissed her lips softly, holding her close by her thighs, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. Every touch, every moment was new yet instinctive, and it didn’t take long before we found our rhythm — an intimate dance of connection and discovery.

Before I left her bedroom to prepare breakfast, I paused at the door and smiled.

“Stay in bed for another few minutes,” I said quietly. “Let things settle.”

She smiled back.

“Sure.”

We both agreed that mornings suited us better than evenings. Tatjana returned home mentally exhausted after a full day of lectures, meetings, and supervising students, while I was at my best after a good night’s sleep. It seemed only natural to begin the day together rather than end it together.

We spent three consecutive mornings together, and as the days passed we both became increasingly relaxed in each other’s company. The awkwardness of our first meeting in the coffee shop disappeared. We talked more, laughed more, and found ourselves settling into an easy rhythm that neither of us had expected.

A few days later Tatjana raised another issue.

“We need to think about appearances.”

“What do you mean?”

She looked at me over the rim of her coffee mug.

“You’ve moved into my house. My neighbours have noticed. My colleagues certainly will, and sooner or later my family is going to ask questions.”

“I suppose they will.”

“So we need a believable explanation.”

After tossing around several ideas, we settled on a simple story.

I was a man she had met through Tinder. Since we lived on opposite sides of the country, we had agreed that I would spend several weeks with her to see whether a relationship had any future. Staying at her house made practical sense while we got to know each other.

It was plausible because, in many ways, it wasn’t entirely untrue. We were getting to know each other. Only the reason was different.

From then on I gradually became part of her everyday life. She invited me to university functions, informal gatherings with colleagues, and dinners with friends. I accompanied her without pretending to be anyone other than myself, although our official story remained the one we had agreed upon.

The reactions were almost universally positive. Many of her colleagues admitted they had assumed Tatjana would remain single forever.

“So,” one lecturer teased during a faculty barbecue, “where have you been hiding him all these years?”

Tatjana laughed.

“I wasn’t hiding him. We simply hadn’t met yet.”

Another colleague raised his glass.

“About time someone convinced you there was life outside mathematics.”

Her friends were equally delighted. They had watched her devote years to her career with little time for anything else, and they seemed genuinely pleased to see someone sharing her life.

As for me, I simply listened, smiled, and played my part.

The irony wasn’t lost on either of us. The cover story had begun as a practical convenience, but the more time we spent together, the less it felt like an act. We had settled into a comfortable domestic routine. I cooked, kept the house tidy, worked from my laptop, and greeted Tatjana with dinner most evenings when she returned from the university.

To anyone looking in from the outside, we appeared to be an ordinary couple discovering what life together might be like. Sometimes, I caught myself wondering whether we were beginning to believe it ourselves.

---

About two weeks after my arrival, I had just started preparing dinner when I heard the front door unlock.

Without looking up from the vegetables I was chopping, I called out, “Tatjana, are your lectures over already?”

Wearing an apron and still holding the kitchen knife, I walked around the corner. Instead of Tatjana, I found myself face to face with another woman. She was in her late fifties, well dressed, and looked just as surprised as I was.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “You startled me.”

“I’m sorry.”

She glanced at my apron and the saucepan simmering on the stove.

“Have you been hired as my daughter’s cook?”

I couldn’t help laughing.

“No, not quite.”

“Then who are you?”

“My name is Ronald.” I offered my hand after moving the knife. “I’m Tatjana’s boyfriend. I’ve been staying here for about two weeks.”

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Boyfriend?”

“We met through Tinder. I flew over from the West, and we decided to spend some time together to see whether our relationship could work.”

She stared at me for another moment before breaking into a broad smile.

“My daughter hasn’t mentioned a word about you.”

“I don’t think she was expecting visitors.”

She laughed.

“I’m her mother. Carol.”

I pointed towards the stove.

“Would you mind joining me in the kitchen? Dinner won’t cook itself.”

Carol followed me in while I continued preparing the meal.

“So,” she said, leaning against the counter, “you really cook?”

“I enjoy it.”

“My daughter has finally found a man who can cook.”

“I wouldn’t call it a rare talent.”

“You’d be surprised.”

She watched me work for a few minutes before shaking her head.

“If you treat her as well as you cook, she’s found a treasure.”

Carol clearly enjoyed conversation. Within half an hour she had gently extracted every detail of the version of our story that was available for public consumption — how we’d met online, why I had travelled across the country, and why we had decided it made sense for me to stay with Tatjana while we got to know one another.

She explained that she and her husband lived several hours away. Her husband was away on a football trip with a group of old friends, so she had taken the opportunity to spend a few days in the city shopping and catching up with Tatjana.

When I realised the timing, I felt a knot forming in my stomach. Her visit overlapped with Tatjana’s expected fertile window. As soon as I had a chance, I phoned Tatjana at the university.

“We have a small complication,” I said.

“Let me guess. Mum arrived.”

“You knew she had a key?”

“I completely forgot to tell you.”

We both laughed.

“So what do we do?”

After discussing it for a few minutes, we agreed on a simple solution. Carol would use the guest bedroom at the far end of the house, while I would move into Tatjana’s room for the duration of her mother’s stay. From Carol’s point of view, that arrangement made perfect sense for a couple sharing a home, and it avoided awkward questions about why her daughter’s boyfriend was sleeping elsewhere.

“Problem solved,” Tatjana said.

“I’ll have dinner ready when you get home.”

“As always.”

“And your mother already thinks I’m a miracle.”

Tatjana laughed.

“She thinks any man who cooks is a miracle.”

“I’ll try not to disappoint her.”

When I hung up, Carol looked at me with an amused smile.

“Everything sorted?”

“Yes.”

“Good,” she said. “Now tell me honestly — what are you making for dinner? It smells wonderful.”

---

Then came the annual College Ball. Tatjana attended every year, partly because she enjoyed the evening, but mainly because every member of the academic staff was expected to contribute in some way. As one of the teachers on duty, she would spend part of the night keeping an eye on the students and helping the organisers. The pleasant bonus was that each staff member was allowed to bring a guest. This year, I was that guest.

When Tatjana came downstairs, I almost failed to recognise her. Gone was the reserved lecturer in tailored jackets and sensible shoes. Instead, she wore an elegant midnight-blue evening dress that complemented her figure perfectly. Her long dark hair, normally tied neatly behind her head, fell freely over her shoulders, softening her features and making her appear years younger.

“You look…” I searched for the right word.

She smiled.

“Different?”

“Beautiful.”

A faint blush appeared on her cheeks.

“Thank you.”

“And I thought mathematicians didn’t know how to surprise people.”

“Oh, we do,” she replied with a grin. “We just calculate the best moment.”

She slipped her arm through mine, and together we drove to the university.

The ballroom had been transformed with fairy lights, flowers, and elegantly dressed tables. Students in formal attire mingled with lecturers and administrative staff, creating an atmosphere that was both festive and relaxed.

By now we had been living together for almost three months. We had settled into a comfortable routine that made appearing as a couple effortless. There was no awkwardness, no uncertainty. Holding her arm as we entered the hall felt entirely natural.

Tatjana immediately found herself surrounded by colleagues.

“There you are!” one of the lecturers called. “And you actually brought him.”

She laughed.

“I told you he existed.”

Turning to me, she said, “Everyone, this is Ronald.”

Hands were shaken, names exchanged, and before long I had met what seemed like half the faculty.

“So you’re the man who finally persuaded Tatjana to have a social life,” an older professor joked.

“I’d like to claim the credit,” I replied, “but I suspect she still spends more time with equations than with me.”

The group burst into laughter.

For the next hour we wandered through the reception, chatting with lecturers, researchers, and administrative staff while balancing glasses of wine and helping ourselves to the endless stream of finger food.

Eventually the lights dimmed slightly, and the band began to play. The students were the first to rush onto the dance floor. Fast pop songs echoed through the hall, and before long the room was filled with enthusiastic, if not always coordinated, dancing.

Tatjana watched with an amused smile.

“I’m glad my teaching duties don’t include dancing.”

“I think they’re managing without instruction.”

“They certainly are.”

After half an hour the pace changed. The band leader thanked the audience, and the music slowed into a classic love song. I turned towards her.

“May I?”

She looked at my outstretched hand and smiled warmly.

“I was wondering how long it would take you.”

As she placed her hand in mine, I guided her gently onto the dance floor. She slipped naturally into my arms. For a few moments we simply moved together, saying nothing. Around us dozens of couples swayed to the music, but they gradually disappeared from my awareness.

“You know,” she said softly, looking up at me, “I never imagined I’d come to this ball with someone.”

She rested her head lightly against my shoulder.

I drew her a little closer as we moved slowly across the dance floor. She rested comfortably against me, and I lowered my head just enough to catch the faint scent of her hair. It was a simple moment, yet surprisingly intimate.

“Teacher,” I whispered with a smile, “would I embarrass you if your students and colleagues saw us like this?”

She gave a soft snort of amusement.

“Why? Aren’t older people allowed to show a little affection?”

“I suppose they are.”

We danced another few steps in silence.

Then I asked quietly, “So… do we feel affection for each other?”

She didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she continued swaying gently to the music, her gaze drifting somewhere beyond the dance floor. I could almost see the mathematician in her analysing the question from every possible angle. Finally, she looked up at me.

“I’m still working on that.”

“You are?”

She nodded slowly.

“This arrangement was supposed to be straightforward. We had a goal, we had a plan, and we both knew exactly why you came here.”

“And now?”

She smiled, although there was uncertainty behind it.

“Now it’s becoming… unexpectedly complicated.”

I waited for her to continue.

“We’ve been living together for nearly three months. We have breakfast together every morning. We have dinner together every evening. We go shopping, cook, argue over which wine to buy, watch films, and now we’re attending university functions as if we’ve been a couple for years.”

She laughed softly.

“None of that was in the original agreement.”

“No,” I admitted. “It wasn’t.”

She searched my face.

“And what about you? How do you see it?”

I hesitated.

“I think I’m arriving at exactly the same conclusion.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly.

“I came here expecting to help you become a mother,” I continued. “I didn’t expect to enjoy sharing my life with you quite this much.”

For a moment she said nothing. Then she rested her head gently against my shoulder once more.

“I was afraid you might say that.”

“Why?”

“Because it means I’m not imagining it.”

The band played on while we continued to dance, neither of us speaking again for several moments. Our arrangement had begun with carefully defined boundaries, practical discussions, and legal agreements. Somewhere along the way, without either of us noticing exactly when, those boundaries had begun to blur.

Neither of us knew where it would lead. For the first time since I had arrived on the east coast, the future no longer looked like something that could be planned with calendars, temperature charts, or careful schedules. Some things, I realised, refused to follow even the most logical equation.

---

After Carol returned home, neither of us mentioned sleeping in separate bedrooms again. It happened naturally. The arrangement that had begun as a practical necessity quietly became our new normal. Sharing the same room was simply more comfortable, and after a while neither of us questioned it.

One evening, as we lay reading in bed, Tatjana put her book on the bedside table and turned towards me.

“You know,” she said with a thoughtful smile, “just because it’s not the right time in my cycle doesn’t mean we have to behave like flatmates.”

I smiled.

“So that’s your scientific conclusion?”

“It is.”

“And is there research to support it?”

She laughed and gently nudged me.

“I’m prepared to conduct further studies.”

From that night onwards, we no longer measured our closeness solely by her fertility calendar. We simply enjoyed being together whenever it felt right. By the beginning of the fifth month, our daily lives had settled into a rhythm so effortless that it sometimes felt as though we had been living together for years rather than months. It had become remarkably easy to imagine that this was simply our life.

Then something happened that made me question everything.

One morning, while getting ready, I realised my nail file had become completely worn out. Rather than buying a new one immediately, I wandered upstairs to see whether Tatjana had one I could borrow. She kept all sorts of things neatly organised in the bathroom drawers.

The first drawer contained cosmetics. The second held hair accessories. The next was filled with toiletries. No nail file.

Almost absent-mindedly, I opened the bottom drawer. It contained neatly folded hand towels. I was about to close it again when curiosity made me lift the stack. Underneath lay a small cardboard box. I recognised it instantly.

A packet of contraceptive pills. It wasn’t unopened. Most of the tablets were gone.

I picked it up and looked more closely. Today’s tablet was missing.

I stood perfectly still. That meant only one thing. Tatjana had taken her pill that morning.

Slowly I returned the packet to exactly where I had found it and carefully replaced the towels. Then I closed the drawer.

I walked downstairs in silence, my mind racing. For months we had organised our lives around ovulation charts, fertility windows and the hope of conceiving a child. We had built routines together and, somewhere along the way, fallen into something that looked very much like a real relationship.

Yet the packet hidden beneath those towels suggested a completely different story. If Tatjana had been taking the pill all this time … then she had known she could never become pregnant.

The question was no longer whether she had deceived me. The question was why.

My first instinct was to confront her the moment she came home. I even imagined how the conversation would begin.

“Tatjana, I found something in the bathroom today.”

Simple. Direct.

Instead, I sat down in the garden with a cup of coffee and forced myself to think before speaking.

The real question wasn’t what I had found. It was why.

For some reason I found it difficult to believe she had been taking the pill from the very beginning. During those first months she had seemed genuinely hopeful, carefully monitoring her cycle and talking openly about becoming pregnant. Nothing about her behaviour had suggested deception.

Something must have changed.

As I replayed the last few months in my mind, the answer slowly began to emerge. We had changed.

What had started as a practical arrangement had quietly become a shared life. We woke up together, ate together, laughed together, entertained friends together and, without ever discussing it, had become each other’s closest companion.

I had never heard Tatjana say the words I love you. She wasn’t the type. She expressed herself through actions rather than declarations.

Perhaps, I thought, she had become afraid. Afraid that the moment she conceived, my role in her life would be over. Afraid that I would pack my suitcase, return over West, and continue with the next woman on my list.

If that was true could I really condemn her for wanting to keep me a little longer?

The thought stayed with me for several minutes. Then another one arrived. If she continued like this, she was also deceiving herself. Time was no longer her ally. Every month she postponed the pregnancy was another month she could never reclaim. If motherhood was truly her dream, she was gambling with something precious.

And then the most uncomfortable question of all confronted me. What did I want? Until that moment I had been thinking almost entirely about Tatjana’s feelings. Now I had to examine my own.

If she became pregnant tomorrow, would I really fly home and continue my life as though these months had meant nothing?

The answer came surprisingly quickly. No. I couldn’t. Somewhere along the way I had stopped thinking of her as a recipient. She had become my partner.

When had that happened? I had no idea. It simply had.

I leaned back in my chair and smiled to myself. For a mathematician, Tatjana had made one serious error in her calculations. She believed she had to prevent a pregnancy to keep me. She was solving the wrong problem. The solution wasn’t another packet of contraceptive pills. It was for me to tell her the truth. To tell her that I had fallen in love with her. If she knew that, there would be no reason to fear losing me.

I stood up. For the first time since finding the pills, my mind was completely clear. I knew exactly what I was going to say when Tatjana came home. And whatever happened after that would change both of our lives forever.

---

After dinner that evening, we carried our coffees into the lounge and settled into our usual places on the sofa. The television remained off. Somehow it didn’t seem important.

Tatjana smiled at me over the rim of her cup.

“You’ve been awfully quiet tonight.”

“I know.”

“Something on your mind?”

“There is.”

I put my cup down on the coffee table and turned towards her.

“Tatjana, we’ve been living together for five months now.”

She nodded, sensing from my tone that this wasn’t ordinary conversation.

“Unfortunately, you’re still not pregnant.”

A shadow crossed her face, but I continued before she could respond.

“That’s not what I want to talk about.”

She looked at me expectantly.

“Something else has happened.”

I took a slow breath.

“Something I never planned.”

Her eyes searched mine.

“I’ve fallen in love with you.”

The words hung between us.

“I couldn’t help it. I know this wasn’t supposed to happen. Our arrangement was never meant to become personal, yet somewhere along the way it did. I love you.”

Then I fell silent. There was nothing more to say.

Tatjana simply stared at me. It was obvious she hadn’t expected such a confession. Her expression shifted from surprise to disbelief, and then to deep thought as she searched for the right words.

For several long seconds neither of us spoke. Finally, she drew a deep breath.

“Ronald…”

Her voice was almost a whisper.

“I understand.”

“You do?”

She gave a small, nervous smile.

“Because exactly the same thing happened to me.”

I felt my heart begin to race.

“Living with you… sharing every day… it gave me no choice.” She laughed softly through glistening eyes. “Somewhere along the way I fell in love with you too.”

Neither of us moved. We simply looked at each other. Then she asked the question that had clearly been weighing on her heart.

“What does this mean now?”

There was a vulnerability in her voice I had never heard before.

“Are you… staying with me?”

The uncertainty in her eyes told me everything. She genuinely didn’t know.

I reached across and gently took both her hands.

“Tatjana…”

She looked up at me.

“I love you.”

She squeezed my hands.

“I want to stay with you.”

A tear escaped down her cheek.

“I don’t just want to stay. One day, if you’ll have me, I’d like to marry you.”

Her eyes widened.

“But before any of that…” I smiled gently, “…I’d like us to have the child we originally set out to create.”

She nodded, unable to speak.

“So,” I continued softly, “there’s one thing I need you to do.”

“What?”

“Throw away the contraceptive pills.”

For a moment she froze.

I could almost see the realisation spreading across her face.

“You… you found them.”

“I did.”

She lowered her eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

I gently lifted her chin until she was looking at me again.

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Fresh tears welled in her eyes.

“You don’t need to keep me by delaying a pregnancy. I’m not going anywhere. Whether you become pregnant next month or next year, I’ll still be here.”

The tears she had been trying so hard to hold back finally won. She threw her arms around me and buried her face against my shoulder.

“Thank you,” she sobbed.

Then she kissed my cheek.

“I love you.”

Another kiss.

“I love you.”

Then another.

“I really, really love you.”

Within seconds my face was covered in tears as much as kisses. I burst out laughing.

“Could somebody please bring me a towel?”

She pulled back just enough to look at me before laughing through her tears.

“You are impossible.”

---

What more is there to say? Tatjana stopped taking the pills and allowed her cycle to return naturally. There were no more secrets between us, no more carefully hidden fears, and no more pretending. We had begun our journey with contracts, medical tests and practical arrangements. We continued it simply as two people in love.

About six weeks later, everything finally fell into place. A month after that, the pregnancy was confirmed.

I still remember the expression on Tatjana’s face as she held the test in her trembling hands. The brilliant mathematician who could solve problems that left most people bewildered stood speechless in our bathroom, tears quietly rolling down her cheeks.

“It worked,” she whispered.

“It certainly did,” I replied, wrapping my arms around her. For the first time, we weren’t celebrating a successful donation. We were celebrating our own child.

We decided not to rush anything else. The pregnancy was our priority, and we wanted to give our daughter the best possible start in life. Wedding plans could wait.

Our families, however, had other ideas. My parents flew over, while Tatjana’s parents became regular visitors. Her mother claimed she had known from the moment she found me cooking in the kitchen that I wasn’t going anywhere.

“I told you he was a keeper,” she reminded Tatjana more than once.

Fifteen months after I had first arrived with nothing more than a suitcase, intending to stay for a week, Tatjana and I stood before our family and closest friends and exchanged our wedding vows. Neither of us could stop smiling.

As I slipped the ring onto her finger, I quietly whispered, “Not a bad Tinder match.”

She laughed.

“I knew your profile was too good to be true.”

A few months later, our daughter arrived. The first time I held her, she wrapped her tiny fingers around one of mine with astonishing determination. Tatjana looked at me from her hospital bed, exhausted but radiant.

“Well,” she said softly, “I suppose this all started with a cup of coffee.”

“No,” I replied.

“It started with a mathematics professor who wanted a baby.”

“And a sperm donor who thought he was only visiting.”

We both laughed.

Life, it turned out, had solved the equation far better than either of us could have planned.

Today our daughter fills the house with laughter, scattered toys and endless questions. Tatjana still teaches mathematics, although she smiles far more than she used to. I spend a lot of time building wooden toys, reading bedtime stories and chasing a determined little girl around the garden.

Occasionally someone asks us how we first met. Tatjana and I simply exchange a glance.

“We met online,” one of us answers truthfully.

“And the rest?”

“That’s a rather unusual story.”

Perhaps one day, when our daughter is old enough to understand, we’ll tell her the whole truth.

Sometimes the best things in life begin with a carefully laid plan. Sometimes they begin with complete coincidence. And sometimes, if you’re very lucky, they begin with both.

The End