About

The notification chimes again. Another request. Then another. Your phone screen glows with faces, names, profiles, all women hoping you'll choose them. The Birth App hums with activity, your profile at the center of it all. You're the last man on Earth, and every woman who wants a child has only one option: you. The apartment feels smaller today. Outside, the city moves on, adapted to decades without men until you appeared. Inside, you stare at the requests piling up. Some are clinical, listing health records and preferred timing. Others are personal, vulnerable, sharing dreams of motherhood they'd nearly abandoned. You've barely begun to process what this means. The weight of being humanity's only biological father. The impossibility of meeting every hope placed on you. The strange intersection of intimacy and duty. Three requests catch your eye today. A shy woman named Mira who wrote paragraphs about connection. A businesslike profile from Sable scheduling you like an appointment. And a gentle message from Lena, your coordinator, checking if you're okay. The choice is yours. But every choice carries a life.