When Jessica’s husband, James, asks her to be a surrogate for his brother’s fiancée, she agrees, even though something in her gut tells her not to. But as the pregnancy progresses, her doubts grow stronger. The fiancée is never around, the details feel off, and when Jessica finally meets her, the truth shatters everything.
It all started when James, my husband of eight years, invited me to his mother Diane’s house for a “family meeting.” That phrase alone was enough to make me sigh. There was always some kind of drama with his family.
“What is it this time?” I asked as we drove over. “Did your mom find another scratch on her china and decide I’m to blame?”
James tightened his grip on the wheel. “Just keep an open mind, Jess. Hear them out.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
When we arrived, Diane greeted me with her usual stiff hug. Matt, James’s younger brother, sat nervously in an armchair, rubbing his hands together.
“Jessica,” Diane began, her voice overly sweet. “We have something very special to ask you.”
I shot James a look. He avoided my eyes.
Matt cleared his throat. “Jessica, I’m engaged.”
I smiled. “Congratulations! When do we get to meet her?”
Matt and Diane exchanged glances.
“She’s a wildlife photographer,” Matt explained. “Right now, she’s in Ethiopia filming Ethiopian wolves. The signal there is terrible, so communication is difficult.”
“The thing is,” Diane said, leaning in, “she has health problems. She can’t carry a child, but she wants kids.”
I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach.
“We were hoping,” Matt said, “you might consider being our surrogate.”
I stared at them. “You want me to carry your baby?”
James squeezed my hand. “Think about what it would mean to Matt. And the compensation would help us. We could add to the kids’ college funds, finally do the kitchen renovations you wanted—”
“Shouldn’t I talk to Matt’s fiancée first? This is huge.”
“She’s completely on board,” Matt assured me. “We already froze the embryos before she left. We just need a surrogate.”
“But I haven’t even met her.”
“You will,” Diane said, patting my knee. “You two will get along splendidly.”
I felt cornered. James knew exactly what buttons to press: our children, our home, our future. Against my better judgment, I nodded. “I’ll do it.”
The pregnancy was exhausting. Morning sickness that lasted all day, swollen ankles, sleepless nights. Through it all, James rubbed my back and reminded me about the money.
But something felt off.
Matt visited often, always checking on me, but his fiancée never called, never texted, never reached out.
“Has Matt’s fiancée called yet?” I asked James one night.
“She’s still traveling,” he mumbled.
“For nine months? Without a single call to the woman carrying her child?”
James sighed. “You’re stressing over nothing, Jess. It’s not good for the baby.”
“The baby,” I whispered. “Not me.”
As my due date approached, my unease grew. I called Matt directly. “When is your fiancée coming back? I’d really like to meet her.”
“Soon,” he promised. “She’s photographing rare birds in the Nechisar Plains.”
The day I went into labor, James drove me to the hospital. The pain was unbearable, but worse was the gnawing feeling in my gut.
Matt and Diane arrived, but I waved them away. “Out. This is too personal.”
A nurse checked me. “Six centimeters. Moving along.”
James’s phone buzzed. He checked the message and stood up. “I’ll be right back. Matt’s fiancée is here.”
Moments later, he returned with a gorgeous woman.
I recognized her instantly.
“Rachel?” The name escaped my lips like a curse.
Rachel was James’s high school sweetheart. The woman whose name I banned from our home after catching James drunk, scrolling through her pictures six years into our marriage, admitting he’d never gotten over her.
“Jessica!” Rachel beamed. “I can’t thank you enough. You made our dream come true!”
The room spun. I turned to James, my voice shaking. “You knew. You knew it was her. And you never told me.”
James’s face barely flickered. “It wasn’t relevant.”
“Wasn’t relevant? You made me carry a child for the woman you never got over, and that wasn’t relevant?”
Diane stepped in, her tone condescending. “Sweetheart, don’t overreact. Rachel wanted a baby, and you were the perfect choice.”
“You’ve had two healthy pregnancies. She wanted to keep her body.”
It hit me like a ton of bricks. This wasn’t about helping family. This was about convenience. Rachel kept her perfect body while I carried her baby.
“Great to know I’m just a broodmare,” I spat.
Rachel flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Shut up!” Another contraction tore through me. “Liars. Manipulative—”
“Stop being so dramatic,” James sighed. “It’s done. Just let it go.”
I turned to the nurse. “I need a moment alone with my husband.”
The nurse ushered everyone out. The second the door clicked shut, I looked James dead in the eye.
“We’re done.”
He blinked. “What?”
“Our marriage. You tricked me into being an incubator for your ex. I’m done.”
James laughed. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Am I? Then you won’t mind when I take everything I’m legally entitled to in the divorce.”
The color drained from his face.
“Jessica—”
“No.” Another contraction ripped through me. “You took away my choice. Now I’m taking back my life.”
I endured labor alone. When the baby’s cries filled the room, I felt relief, grief, and fury.
The nurse placed the baby in my arms for a moment. I looked down at the tiny face, so innocent despite the betrayal behind its existence.
Then I handed the baby back. “This child isn’t mine to keep.”
Within a week, I filed for divorce. I secured full custody of my children and made sure James felt the consequences of his actions.
He tried to win me back—flowers, voicemails, even showing up at my parents’ house.
“Please, Jessica,” he begged. “It was a mistake. I should have told you.”
“A mistake?” I replied. “A mistake is forgetting an anniversary. This was calculated betrayal.”
Three months later, I signed the final divorce papers.
“He agreed to all terms,” my lawyer said. “The house, the accounts, primary custody. You won.”
I signed my name with steady hands. “I didn’t win. I just stopped losing.”
As I left, my phone buzzed with a text from James: “Rachel had the baby christened yesterday. They want you to know they’re grateful.”
I deleted it without responding.
Rachel got her baby. Matt got his family. James got what he deserved.
And me?
I got my freedom.
