Once upon a time in the near-future, there was a young woman, named Mimi, who lived with her mother in the poorest part of the city. Before dying of lung cancer, Mimi's father, her favorite person in the whole world, made her promise to never squander the gift which God, in his infinite grace, had seen fit to grant her. From a young age, Mimi had the ability to effortlessly recall anything she had ever heard, in perfect detail, and without the slightest error. She made this promise (she was only six years old) and from thereon was cursed to remember it for the rest of her life.

When Mimi was sixteen years old, she graduated from high school at the top of her class. Not having enough money to attend a private university, she worked her way through community college, tutoring students five or six years her senior. She graduated, with honors, in three years, majoring in Biochemistry. She applied to the best medical schools in the country and was delighted when she received acceptances from all of them.

Unfortunately, she did not have enough money to pay the tuition (this was after the time of government-backed student loans) and she fell into complete despair. She felt that her fate was now to be like her best friend, Janice, a stay-at-home mother whose husband had impregnated her before she had even graduated high school. Mimi had an interested suitor of her own, who loved her with a passion that greatly flattered her vanity. He would propose soon, she was sure. He wanted children, she was sure. He would be a good husband and father, she was sure. But would she be a good mother? Was this love? Was this concession? She could not help but remember her father and her promise.

One night, while babysitting Janice's two little girls, Mimi found a mysterious flier in their kitchen trash. It was blank except for a small QR code in one corner. When she scanned the code with her phone, it led to a website that had only numbers for its address. The website consisted only of a single page, with only the following text:
     Contact m0174blv@protonmail.com to sell oovs.
Mimi went home in a daze that night. She understood perfectly what the text meant: it was an invitation to girls who wanted to sell their eggs. All that night Mimi tossed and turned, going over the possibilities in her mind. She was in the prime of her youth and had eggs enough to pay her way through medical school. But since the "anti-eggsploitation" laws that were passed some years ago, the business had fallen to criminal types. It was both dangerous and illegal. If caught, they were sure to make an example of her. She would get sent to prison for years. If anything went wrong with the procedure, she might suffer horrible complications or even death. And with how aggressive they were now, infertility was certain. What could she do? When she brought up the topic to her mother—tactfully presenting it as though it were happening to someone else, a friend—her mother reacted with righteous indignation. She was a religious women, a convert, and with a convert's zeal she repudiated all those women who had sacrificed, for mere material, their God-given capacity for conception. She, who complained so often of her poverty, and of the husband who had abandoned them to it, could regard these fallen creatures with untroubled disdain. "I only feel pity for the mother," she said, clicking her tongue. "No grandchildren. It's so sad."

So, Mimi went to consult with her best friend, Janice. Janice revealed that she had found the flier by accident and, wanting no more children but seeking to buy a house, she had considered the procedure herself. In the end, she and her husband had concluded that it was too risky. It was too easy to get scammed, and she was a mother and had the children to think of. But she encouraged Mimi. She expressed her admiration for Mimi's talents, how she had always looked up to her, and was at times even envious of her excellence, envious, even now, of the opportunity to escape this life. "You're the only one of us that had a chance," she said. "And I now you'll come back and do us good, because I know that you at least won't forget us."

For a whole month, Mimi deliberated. She grew pensive and distant, utterly absorbed in her thoughts. Her boyfriend, misunderstanding these as signs of impatience or frustration, decided to buy the best wedding ring he could afford, and, after having dinner in their favorite restaurant, discreetly propose to her on the elevator ride up to her apartment. Being a shy and untheatrical man, he made no elaborate gestures, but merely pressed the box with the ring into her hand, and kissed her on the cheek. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, by which he meant that she should sleep on it and let him know her answer by wearing the ring—or not—in the morning.

Morning came. Mimi's pillow was soaked with tears; the box lay unopened on her dressing table. A dozen times she had written the email, only to delete again. She had stared for hours at the messages from her boyfriend, recalled all their conversations, had decided, finally, that she really did love him, would probably never love another man in quite the same way, but that she could not squander her God-given talents, all the good she could do, for his sake.