At 42, I had saved every cent I could for IVF — my last shot at becoming a mom. But when I checked my account, the money was gone. Completely.
And the person who took it? My own sister. She’d drained it all… to pay for her third “dream wedding.”
I was never the “golden child.”
Not the prettiest. Not the most talented. Not the one who turned heads.
I was the one who worked hard, waited my turn, and kept telling myself, Later. I’ll focus on me later.
Somehow “later” turned into being forty-two. Single. And running out of time.
For years, I’d tried to have a baby. My marriage crumbled while I waited for it to happen. My husband started coming home later and later until one day… he just didn’t.
It hit me hard: if I wanted to be a mom, I’d have to do it alone.
“Sheesh, your husband left you, Lynn. Good riddance,” Mom said, barely looking up from her cup of tea. “You saw it yourself. He never tried.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat.
“And now you’re thinking about IVF?” my sister Jenna asked, her tone already mocking.
“Yes,” I said. “With a donor. I’ve made up my mind. I can’t wait anymore.”
“You’re not fifty yet,” she scoffed. “You could still find a decent man.”
“I’m forty-two. I’m ready to be a mom. Even if it’s on my own.”
Mom stayed silent. Jenna rolled her eyes like I’d just announced I was moving to Mars.
“You’re insane. Kids are shackles. People live for themselves now.”
I shot back, “Tell that to your two ex-husbands.”
“I’m just not afraid to start over. And FYI — IVF costs a fortune.”
“I have savings,” I said. “Remember that joint account Dad set up for us? I’ve been adding to it for the last ten years.”
Jenna’s eyes flickered. Mom suddenly got up and started wiping down an already spotless counter. I should have noticed. I should have asked questions. But I didn’t.
The next morning, I went to the bank.
“Good morning,” I said to the teller. “I’d like to check the balance on a joint account — my sister and me.”
The woman typed something, stopped, and looked at me with a strange expression.
“The balance is zero.”
“Excuse me?”
“Everything was withdrawn five days ago. By… Jenna M.”
I don’t even remember leaving the bank. The world around me felt muffled, like I was underwater. The next thing I knew, I was outside Jenna’s apartment, my hand shaking as I pressed the buzzer.
The door opened almost immediately. Jenna stood there in pajamas, latte in hand, smiling like nothing had happened.
“Oh, Lynn! Come in. I was just thinking about calling you.”
“You emptied the account? All of it?”
“Yeah. Why?” She stepped aside, as if I’d just asked her about borrowing sugar.
“Why? That was my money too! I was saving for the baby!”
“Oh, don’t start,” she groaned. “I told you this whole baby plan was crazy.”
“I didn’t need your approval. My share would’ve covered IVF and maternity leave.”
“Well, weddings aren’t cheap. And mine’s going to be perfect. Floral walls, signature cocktails, a live harpist… No cutting corners this time.”
“You blew through tens of thousands for centerpieces?”
Jenna smirked and pulled something out of a velvet drawer.
“Here. Your invitation.”
It was thick, gold-foiled, absurdly fancy.
“You spent money on engraved invitations? They’ll end up in the trash!”
“You don’t get it. It’s about the image. Everything top-tier.”
“I was trying to create a life. You were planning a circus.”
“Oh my God, Lynn. Always so dramatic.”
“You have no idea what I’ve sacrificed. I saved for years while you blew through alimony on Pilates and scented candles.”
“I’m not apologizing for living well. You want a baby? Have one. But don’t expect me to feel bad.”
That’s when Mom appeared in the doorway. “Girls, please. It’s too early for yelling.”
“She stole from me,” I said, pointing at Jenna. “You know that joint account? She drained it.”
Mom sighed. “Jenna just wants to celebrate her new beginning. Don’t hold her back.”
“I don’t deserve a beginning too?”
“You’ve always been resilient. You’ll figure it out. But Jenna… she needs this.”
“You want me to be happy for the person who robbed me?”
“Lynn, sweetheart—”
“No. I’m done being the one who sacrifices.”
I left with the invitation in my fist. My sister wanted her perfect wedding? Fine. But it would happen on my terms.
I’d never reached out to Tyler before — Jenna’s fiancé. The man she swore was “different.” But that morning, I called.
He agreed to meet. “If this is about Jenna, I’d rather know than guess,” he said.
We met at a sleek café near his office.
“Lynn. You okay?”
“No,” I said. “And you won’t be either in five minutes.”
I told him everything. How Jenna had emptied our account. How I’d saved for IVF.
He frowned. “That’s… strange. I’m paying for the wedding. Everything. Jenna said it was my gift to us.”
“You’re paying?”
He showed me receipts — venue deposits, floral designs, harpist, even the gold-foiled invitations. All from his account.
“If you’re covering all this,” I said, “then what is she doing with the money she took from me?”
His face paled. “You think she’s hiding something?”
“I know she is. And I’m going to find out.”
He leaned forward. “If you do… tell me.”
For a week, I played the part. I smiled. I offered to “help” with wedding planning. I acted sorry. Jenna lapped it up and gave me access to her entire schedule.
Then one night, after too much prosecco, she fell asleep on the couch. I opened her laptop.
Buried in the chaos of her inbox, I found it: an email titled Divorce Proceedings – Gregory S..
Her ex-husband.
The attachment made everything clear — Greg was threatening to drag her to court for cheating unless she paid him a large sum.
The wedding money wasn’t for flowers or champagne. It was hush money.
The next day, I walked into her bridal fitting.
“Lynn. You look intense,” she said.
“I am.”
I handed her the printed email.
Her face went pale. “Where did you get this?”
“Your inbox. Don’t worry — I hesitated. But then I remembered you didn’t hesitate before stealing from me.”
“You had no right—”
“And you had no conscience. You were going to pay him off after the wedding, once you had Tyler’s last name on paper.”
“I was going to handle it—”
“You were going to lie. Again. But this time, you’re going to pay me back. Every cent. By Friday. Or Tyler finds out everything.”
Her jaw clenched. “You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
By the time I got home, my phone buzzed. A wire transfer. The exact amount she stole.
One year later, I held my daughter for the first time — 7 pounds, 1 ounce of pure perfection.
And as I kissed her tiny forehead, I knew she was worth every battle I had to fight.