Oliver didn’t open his laptop until after midnight.

The apartment was silent, just the low hum of the fridge and the occasional car outside. He’d been pacing for an hour before sitting down—restless in that way where sleep wasn’t really an option. Worried yet excited.

At first, he wasn’t even sure what to type.

Male pregnancy carrier insemination process.

Single parent by choice options.

Where to find safe sperm donation.

Each search sent him deeper into what felt like a quiet maze.

There were forums. Blogs. Websites that looked professional, and others that felt… off. Too casual. Too pushy.

One article linked to a private “donor arrangement” site—basically Craigslist, but for people looking to get pregnant through one-night agreements. No contracts. No clinics. Just two strangers meeting, handling things privately. The traditional method, but how would I know if they were tested. The website doesn’t guarantee you won’t get a sexual disease. 

Nope. That’s not safe at all. That’s how you know they don’t care about safe precautions except for money.

Oliver sat back in his chair, eyes flicking over testimonials on the page. Some anonymous man offering his contact details. No screening. No responsibility.

The idea hit him wrong. Fast and sharp in his chest.

It wasn’t disgust exactly. More like a knot in his stomach. The thought of relying on a stranger like that—someone who might walk away, or worse, show up years later claiming some right over a child Oliver hadn’t even met yet.

Not for me, he thought.

I couldn’t do it like that.

He wanted control. He wanted safety. Most of all, he wanted it to mean something.

Scrolling down, there were links to legal disclaimers, but they felt thin—barely there. He closed the tab.

Another hour passed like that. Leg bouncing from frustration yet still focus on the screen.

Clinic websites. Fertility blogs written by couples. Some specifically catered to women, some to LGBTQ+ clients. Others tried to cover everyone at once, throwing words like “inclusive” around but charging double or triple what seemed fair.

Oliver leaned his head back against the couch cushions, thumb hovering over the touchpad. His eyes burned from the screen glow.

Was he really doing this?

Images kept flickering through his mind—things he wasn’t sure he had a right to imagine yet. A quiet morning making coffee while a small hand tugged at his sleeve. Late nights reading books aloud, the weight of someone else’s head against his shoulder.

He’d always thought parenthood was something that came later. After the right person. After the right moment.

But what if there wasn’t a “right” person for him?

He’d spent so long trying to fit himself into other people’s lives—relationships that never quite stayed solid. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to start something that belonged to him entirely. 

By two-thirty a.m., Oliver had a list open on his phone. Websites. Notes. Pros and cons.

Clinic A:

Pros: local, decent reviews, cheaper packages
Cons: doesn’t allow genetic customization, limited donor pool

Clinic B:

Pros: highly rated, customizable donors
Cons: expensive, website felt… too business-like. Cold.

Donor Matching Apps:

Pros: anonymity, ease of access
Cons: legal risks, no screenings

He found himself making notes on everything—not just the practical details, but his gut reactions.

Some clinics felt too sterile, like they were selling a product instead of helping create a life. Others seemed almost too casual, tossing around phrases like “build your perfect family today!” in a way that made Oliver’s skin crawl.

He didn’t want perfect.

He just wanted real.

By the time his eyes were aching, and his coffee had gone cold beside him, Oliver found it.

A simple, clean website. White background. Soft green accents.

Northbridge Reproductive Center: Specialized Insemination Services for Male Carriers.

His stomach tightened. His pulse slowed.

It felt… right.

There were no flashing banners. No sales language. Just clear, straightforward options.

Donor anonymity guaranteed.

Full health screening required for all donors.

Customization available: height, ethnicity, hair and eye color, blood type.

No legal ties to donors. Custody rights waived.

The price wasn’t the lowest. But it wasn’t outrageous either. And somehow, reading through the FAQ page, it didn’t feel cold.

There was a quiet care to the language. Like whoever wrote it understood what someone like Oliver might be feeling.

Alone. Nervous. Anxious.

But ready.

By 3:15 a.m., he was sitting back again, hand over his mouth, staring at the screen.

If I do this… it’s real.

No flings. No long-term relationship expectations. Just… building something from scratch. His life. His family.

He thought about the way his last relationship had ended—Luca walking out, saying Oliver was too quiet, too settled. That he wanted more adventure. Oliver changed everything about himself for Luca, yet he was never appreciative.

And here Oliver was, sitting in his apartment at 3 a.m., quietly choosing something that scared him more than any adventure ever could. A choice he knew would change his life.

Love hadn’t worked. Not the way he’d always pictured.

But maybe parenthood didn’t have to wait for love. Maybe there were different ways to build a home.

Slowly, deliberately, Oliver opened the scheduling form on the site.

It asked for basic details: name, age, carrier status confirmation.

He filled them in one by one. His hand shook slightly when he got to the final button: Confirm Appointment.

He clicked it.

And then leaned back, eyes closed, letting the weight of it all settle over him like a quiet, steady thing. Not fear. Not exactly excitement.

Something deeper.

The sense that for the first time in years, he wasn’t waiting on anyone else to decide his future.