I always believed that having a baby would bring my husband and me closer. That this tiny life growing inside me would be a new beginning for us. But I was wrong. My husband’s mother had other plans. She controlled everything, and my husband let her. I tried to set boundaries, to carve out a space for myself in my own marriage. But nothing prepared me for the ultimate betrayal—the moment I found myself standing at the door, holding my newborn baby, abandoned.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. Bill and I had talked about having a baby for years. We imagined late-night feedings, giggling over baby names, and the moment we’d finally hold our child in our arms.
But I wasn’t the only one waiting for this baby. Bill’s mother, Jessica, had been waiting too—just not in the way I had hoped.
Jessica had never liked me. She didn’t even try to hide it. From the moment I entered her son’s life, she made it clear that she thought I wasn’t good enough.
“Bill deserves someone better,” she would say, shaking her head whenever I was around.
But everything changed when I got pregnant. Suddenly, Jessica was everywhere. She treated my pregnancy like it was her own. She had an opinion on everything, and she didn’t hesitate to share it.
“You need me to come with you to the doctor,” she’d say, already grabbing her coat before I could protest. “I know what’s best.”
She took over our baby preparations as if I was just an inconvenience in my own pregnancy. She dismissed my choices, picked out the nursery furniture herself, and even declared, “The nursery should be blue. You’ll have a boy.”
I wanted to enjoy my pregnancy, but it was miserable. I had morning sickness so bad I could barely eat, yet Jessica would come over and fill the house with the smell of greasy food, smiling while Bill happily ate her cooking.
One day, I had enough. I told Bill not to share any details about my pregnancy with her anymore. But somehow, when we arrived at the clinic for the ultrasound—the one where we’d finally find out if we were having a boy or a girl—Jessica was already sitting in the waiting room.
I froze. How did she even know?
When the doctor finally told us, “It’s a girl,” my heart swelled. I squeezed Bill’s hand, my body humming with joy. We had dreamed of this moment. A daughter. A beautiful little girl.
But then I saw Jessica’s face. Her mouth pressed into a tight, thin line.
“You couldn’t even give my son a boy,” she sneered. “He needed an heir.”
My stomach twisted. I turned to her, fury boiling inside me. “An heir to what? His video game collection?” I snapped. “And just so you know, the father determines the baby’s gender, not the mother.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed into slits. “That’s a lie,” she spat. “Your body is the problem. You were never right for my son.”
I turned to Bill, hoping—begging—for him to defend me. But he just sat there, silent.
When we got into the car, my hands were shaking. “How did she know about the appointment, Bill?”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I told her.”
Anger surged inside me. “I asked you not to! She stresses me out too much!”
“She’s the grandmother,” he said weakly.
I felt like screaming. “And I’m your wife! I’m the one carrying this baby! Don’t you care how I feel?”
Bill just sighed. “Just ignore her.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one constantly being attacked. He wasn’t the one feeling alone in his own marriage.
Then, everything changed.
My labor started early. Pain crashed over me in waves. My vision blurred. My body trembled. It was too soon.
Bill rushed me to the hospital, but the contractions were unbearable. I clutched his hand, gasping, “I can’t—”
“You’re doing great,” he said, but I could see the fear in his eyes.
Then, the worst happened. The doctors took my daughter away the moment she was born. I reached for her, desperate, but they didn’t let me.
“Please,” I begged. “Let me hold her.”
“You’re losing too much blood!” a doctor shouted.
Everything faded.
When I finally woke up, my body felt like an empty shell. Every breath felt like a battle. My skin was cold, my limbs weak.
Jessica stormed into my hospital room. “You didn’t even tell me you were in labor!” she snapped.
Bill sighed. “It happened too fast.”
“That’s no excuse!” Jessica hissed.
Then, the nurse walked in, holding my daughter. My heart clenched. I reached for her, but before I could take her in my arms, Jessica stepped forward and snatched her away.
“What a beautiful girl,” Jessica cooed, rocking my daughter. But the look in her eyes sent chills down my spine.
I forced myself to sit up. “Give her to me.”
Jessica barely glanced at me. “She needs to be fed.”
“Then give her formula,” Jessica said dismissively.
I shook my head. “No. I’m breastfeeding.”
Jessica’s lips thinned. “But then you’ll always be taking her away from me! You won’t be able to leave her with me!”
Bill finally stepped in. He took our daughter from Jessica’s grip and placed her in my arms. The moment I held her, tears spilled down my face. She was mine. And she was worth everything.
Two weeks passed. My body was still weak, but Jessica refused to back off. She called my daughter “Little Lillian” instead of her real name.
“It’s Eliza,” I corrected, but she ignored me.
Then, one afternoon, Jessica showed up holding an envelope. Bill took it, frowning. “What’s this?”
Jessica smirked. “Proof. I knew Carol wasn’t faithful.”
My stomach dropped. “What are you talking about?”
Jessica shoved the envelope at Bill. “It’s a DNA test.”
Bill’s hands trembled as he read the paper. His face turned cold.
“You and the baby need to be out of here within an hour,” he said. His voice was ice.
I gasped. “What?! Bill, that test isn’t real!”
Jessica folded her arms. “You were never worthy of my son.”
I packed our things, my hands shaking. I clutched Eliza close as I walked out. My own husband had thrown us away like garbage. He hadn’t even questioned it. He had chosen her over us.
Days later, I went back. This time, I handed Bill an envelope.
“This is the real DNA test,” I said. “I took your toothbrush. In case you didn’t notice.”
His face paled as he read it. “99.9%.” His breath caught. “Eliza is my daughter.”
I nodded. “Yes. And you threw us out over a lie.”
His voice broke. “Come back. I’ll cut my mother off. Just give me another chance.”
I took a deep breath. “No. You don’t deserve to be her father. I’m filing for divorce.”
“Carol—”
I turned away. “Goodbye, Bill.”
As I drove away, I knew Eliza and I would be just fine.
