The clinic waiting room smelled faintly of lavender.

Not overwhelming—just enough to feel deliberate. Calming.

Oliver sat with his hands in his lap, thumb tracing over the edge of his phone. He wasn’t looking at anything. Just thinking.

He had never been inside a place like this before. White walls. Soft lighting. No harsh fluorescents. The kind of place that didn’t look like a doctor’s office until you really paid attention to the paperwork tucked behind the receptionist’s desk.

When they called his name, he stood automatically, heart thudding louder than he wanted it to.

The nurse led him down a quiet hall, into a private consultation room.

There were forms. Questions.

Medical history. Carrier confirmation. Existing health conditions.

And then:

“When you’re ready,” the nurse said gently, sliding a tablet across the desk, “you’ll be able to choose your donor preferences.”

Oliver looked down. He hadn’t really thought this part through. Not all the way.

The screen displayed rows of options: 

Ethnicity

Hair color

Eye Color 

Height 

Blood Type

At first, it felt clinical. Mechanical. Like shopping.

But then his mind pulled sideways, back toward things he hadn’t planned to think about today.

Faces. Voices. All the people who had come and gone from his life.

Luca—light brown hair, pale skin, green eyes. Alex, from work.smiles with dimples, blonde hair, blue eyes.

Before that: Diego, from college. Sharp smile, ginger hair.

And years before that—small flings, nothing serious. All blending together in a way that didn’t matter now except for the fact that Oliver realized something painfully clear:

He didn’t want any of this to remind him of them.

It wasn’t about rejection. It wasn’t anger.

It was more like… wanting a clean slate.

A quiet life he could build without carrying the weight of old faces in new places.

He exhaled slowly, thumb hovering over the options.

Hair Color.

He scrolled through the list—rows of choices, all neutral. Nothing marked as better or worse.

And then, almost without thinking, he paused on Brunette—Black hair, specifically.

He didn’t know anyone with that hair color personally. No old exes. No lingering memories attached to anyone who looked like that.

His thumb pressed down, confirming the choice.

Hair: black.

Eyes: dark brown.

Simple. Quiet.

Oliver sat there for a long moment, staring at the finalized screen.

Was this the right way to choose something so permanent?

A flicker of guilt tugged at him—wondering if he was being unfair, turning something as human as genetics into a set of filters.

But deep down, he knew. It wasn’t about the looks.

Nothing like Luca. Nothing like anyone he’d loved before.

It was about letting go.

Choosing something new. A new path, without shadows behind it.

The nurse returned. “How are you feeling?” she asked gently, as if she could sense the weight of the choice.

Oliver looked up.

And for the first time since starting this process, his voice felt steady when he answered:

“Good. Really. It feels right." 

The appointment moved forward—scheduling his procedure date, signing final forms. But by then, Oliver wasn’t floating in doubt anymore.

When he stepped back outside into the bright afternoon sun, the wind cool against his skin, there was only one thought in his mind:

It’s my life. My choice. My family.

I’m going to be a dad by choice.

His chest felt lighter than it had in years. Fierce. Steady.

And for the first time in a long time, Oliver didn’t feel like he was waiting for someone else to catch up.