I always believed that having a baby would bring Bill and me closer, that it would be the start of a beautiful new chapter in our lives. But I never expected that his mother, Jessica, would take over everything—and that Bill would let her. I tried to set boundaries, but nothing prepared me for the ultimate betrayal that left me standing at the door with my newborn in my arms, nowhere to go.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. Bill and I had dreamed about this for so long, imagining the day we’d finally hold our baby in our arms. We talked for hours about names, about decorating the nursery, about how our little one would change our lives for the better.
But I wasn’t the only one waiting for this child. Jessica had been waiting, too—only in a way that made my life miserable.
Jessica had never liked me. From the beginning, she made it clear that I wasn’t good enough for her son.
“Bill deserves someone better,” she would say with a disapproving shake of her head, never bothering to lower her voice.
But the moment she found out I was pregnant, her attitude changed—not for the better, but in a way that made it clear she saw this baby as hers, not mine.
“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 control of everything. She picked out furniture for the nursery, dismissed my choices without a second thought, and even declared, “The room should be blue. You’re having a boy.”
I was already struggling with nausea, barely able to eat. But Jessica didn’t care. She’d come over with greasy food, filling the house with smells that made me sick, and then smile as Bill enjoyed every bite of her cooking. Meanwhile, I spent my days hunched over the toilet, feeling worse and worse.
I finally told Bill to stop sharing details with her. I needed space.
But when we arrived at the clinic for our ultrasound—the one where we’d find out the baby’s gender—there she was, sitting in the waiting room, acting like she belonged.
I froze. “How did she even know?” I whispered to Bill.
He avoided my eyes. “I told her.”
Anger flared in my chest, but I had no time to argue. The doctor’s voice broke through my thoughts.
“It’s a girl.”
Tears welled in my eyes. A daughter. My heart swelled with love. I turned to Bill, expecting to share in the joy. His face lit up for a moment—until we both heard Jessica scoff.
“You couldn’t even give my son a boy,” she sneered. “He needed an heir.”
I clenched my fists. “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. “That’s a lie,” she spat. “Your body is the problem! You were never right for my son.”
I rubbed my temples, trying to stay calm. “Let’s go, Bill,” I muttered.
In the car, I turned to him, my voice shaking. “How could you tell her? I begged you not to!”
“She’s the grandmother,” he mumbled.
“And I’m your wife! I’m carrying our daughter! Don’t you care about how I feel?”
“Just ignore her,” he said, dismissing my pain.
But I couldn’t ignore her. Not when she was everywhere, poisoning my life, making me feel completely alone.
Then, the worst happened. My labor started too soon. Pain crashed over me like waves, my body trembling as Bill rushed me to the hospital.
The contractions hit hard and fast, stealing my breath. Nurses surrounded me, bright lights blinding me, the pain unbearable. I gripped Bill’s hand, gasping. “I can’t—”
“You’re doing great,” he whispered, but I saw the fear in his eyes.
Then everything went wrong.
The doctors took my daughter away the moment she was born. I reached for her, desperate to hold her, but they didn’t let me.
“You’re losing too much blood!” someone shouted.
The world spun. Darkness swallowed me whole.
When I woke up, I was weak, my body drained. The doctor later told me I was lucky to be alive. That I had come too close to dying.
And then, the door burst open. Jessica stormed in, furious.
“You didn’t even tell me you were in labor!” she snapped.
Bill sighed. “It happened too fast.”
“That’s no excuse!” she hissed.
Then a nurse entered, carrying my daughter. My heart clenched. But before I could reach for her, Jessica snatched her from the nurse’s arms.
“What a beautiful girl,” she cooed. Her voice was soft, but her eyes gleamed with triumph.
I forced myself to sit up. “Give her to me.”
Jessica held her tighter. “She needs to be fed,” the nurse interjected.
Jessica waved her off. “Then give her formula.”
“No.” My voice was firm. “I’m breastfeeding.”
Jessica’s lips tightened. “But then you’ll always be taking her away from me!”
Bill finally stepped in, prying our daughter from her grip and placing her in my arms. The moment I held her, I wept. She was mine.
But Jessica wasn’t done. Two weeks later, she arrived uninvited, holding an envelope.
Bill frowned. “What’s this?”
Jessica smirked. “Proof. I knew Carol wasn’t faithful.”
My blood ran cold. “What nonsense is this?”
Jessica shoved the envelope at Bill. “It’s a DNA test.”
Bill’s hands shook as he tore it open. His face hardened.
“You and the baby need to be out of here within an hour,” he said coldly. Then he stormed off.
I gasped. My legs shook. “What?! What did you do?!”
Jessica crossed her arms. “You were never worthy of my son.”
Tears blurred my vision as I packed Eliza’s tiny clothes, grabbing what I could. Before leaving, I snatched Bill’s toothbrush.
Days later, I returned. Bill opened the door, his face unreadable. “What do you want?”
Wordlessly, I handed him an envelope. “This is the real DNA test,” I said. “I took your toothbrush.”
His brows furrowed. He opened it. His face paled.
“Eliza is your daughter,” I said firmly.
Bill’s eyes filled with regret. “Carol, I’m so sorry. I—”
“No.” I shook my head. “You believed her without question. You threw us away.”
He stepped closer. “I’ll cut her off. Just come back.”
I took a deep breath. “I’m filing for divorce. And I want full custody.”
His voice broke. “Please—”
I turned away. “Goodbye, Bill.”
As I drove off, I knew one thing for certain—Eliza and I would be just fine.