“A second moth…?” Erin blinked in confusion, but finally caught on. “Er—no. Just me.”

      “In that case, many single women prefer a donor whose looks match their own. That way, there is more of a chance that the child will look like their parent.”

      Erin clenched and unclenched her hands. She was in way over her head. She hadn’t thought this far, hadn’t realized she could influence her child’s characteristics by choosing the particular donor.

      The child would not be just hers, she realized for the first time. It never could be. Her child would have half of his or her genes from a stranger. Someone neither of them would ever know. If she had a son, he would never be able to look at his father and see himself reflected in some of his features. She would never have a husband whose features would be a mature version of the tiny sleeping face in the cradle.

      Well, that is how you want it, isn’t it? she asked herself in annoyance. You want to do this alone.

      “Who are these men?” she couldn’t help asking. “And why do they do this?”

      “Most of them are students,” the girl replied. “And as to why they do it—there are different reasons. Some like to help infertile couples or single women. Some do it for the token fee they are paid.” She leaned forward, and lowered her voice. “If you ask me, a lot of them simply like the idea of a certain type of immortality—knowing that there may be dozens of their offspring roaming the earth.”

      Erin tried to chuckle, but it came out like a groan. That explanation would fit in with man’s supposed innate desire to procreate. However, it was not what a potential mother wanted to hear. It looked as though Rachel had been sent out into the world without the necessary training in tactfulness.