Part Two:

After their daughter left for college, Stewart would often find his wife lingering at the door to her empty bedroom, gazing despondently at the things she'd left behind. She would often remake the unused bed or compulsively dust the pristine cheerleading uniform on its hanger. Over time, it grew into a deeper depression.

"Empty nest syndrome," said their doctor. "A sort of separation anxiety. One of the worst cases I've seen. Your wife has lost her outlet for her maternal instincts. She is mourning the loss of her identity as a mother."

"Is there a treatment?" they pleaded.

"Of course. You're insured, aren't you?" the doctor replied smoothly. "I'll schedule the surgery."

Stewart gasped. "Surgery? Isn't that a bit extreme?! My wife is already in a fragile state."

The doctor shook his head. "The surgery isn't for her. It's for you. What your wife needs is a daughter surrogate."

Stewart woke groggy from anaesthetic. Beneath the sterile blanket, his naked legs were mounted in stirrups. He touched a hand to his numb face, feeling smooth, hairless skin where stubble should be. Two blurred figures hovered above him.

"What do you think?" said the doctor-blur to his wife-blur. "Is the face doing it for you? Stirring any maternal instincts?"

His wife sucked in a breath, considering. "Hmmm. Not quite yet. Could I see him with the breasts?"