When Jessica’s husband, James, asked her to do something life-changing, she never imagined it would shatter her world.
“Jess, my mom wants us to come over tonight. It’s important,” James said one evening, his voice careful.
I sighed, already sensing trouble. “What is it this time? Did she find another scratch on her precious china and blame me again?”
“Just come. Please.”
At Diane’s house, we were greeted by her stiff hug and an awkward nod from James’s younger brother, Matt. Something was definitely up.
“Jessica,” Diane began, her voice sugary sweet. “We have a special request.”
I glanced at James. He avoided my eyes.
Matt cleared his throat. “I’m engaged.”
“Congratulations!” I said genuinely. “When do we get to meet her?”
Matt and Diane exchanged a look.
“She’s a wildlife photographer,” Matt explained. “She’s in Ethiopia right now, documenting wolves. The phone service is awful.”
Diane leaned forward. “She has health issues, Jessica. She can’t carry a baby. But she and Matt desperately want children.”
The room fell silent.
“We were hoping,” Matt said hesitantly, “you’d consider being a surrogate.”
My stomach dropped. I turned to James, expecting him to be as shocked as I was. But he wasn’t.
“You knew about this?” I whispered.
“Think of what it would mean to Matt,” James said, squeezing my hand. “And the compensation would help us—our kids’ college funds, kitchen renovations.”
“But shouldn’t I at least talk to her first? This is huge.”
“She’s completely on board,” Matt assured me. “We did the IVF before she left. The embryos are ready. We just need a surrogate.”
I felt cornered, surrounded by expectant faces. James knew exactly how to push me—family, finances, future. Against my instincts, I nodded. “I’ll do it.”
The pregnancy was difficult. Morning sickness lasted all day, my back ached, and my ankles swelled. James was supportive in his way—rubbing my feet, reminding me how the money would change our lives. But something felt off.
Matt visited often, checking on the baby, bringing vitamins. But his fiancée? Still unreachable.
“Has she called?” I asked James one night, shifting uncomfortably in bed.
“She’s still traveling. Don’t stress. It’s bad for the baby.”
“The baby,” I muttered. “Not me.”
As my due date neared, my unease grew.
“When is she coming back?” I finally asked Matt directly.
“Soon,” he said quickly. “She’s photographing some rare bird.”
The day I went into labor, James rushed me to the hospital. Pain ripped through me, but something far worse awaited me there.
Matt and Diane arrived, but I pushed them away. “Not now. Too personal.”
Then James’s phone chimed. He checked it and stood. “I’ll be right back. Matt’s fiancée is here.”
Moments later, he returned with a stunning woman.
I froze.
“Rachel?” The name escaped me like a curse.
James’s high school sweetheart. The woman I banned from our house after catching James scrolling through her social media, years into our marriage. The woman he admitted he never really got over.
“Jessica!” Rachel’s face lit up. “I can’t thank you enough! You made our dream come true!”
The room spun.
I turned to James, voice shaking. “You knew. You knew it was her, and you never told me.”
“It wasn’t relevant,” James said, barely reacting.
“Not relevant? I carried a child for the woman you never got over, and you didn’t think that was relevant?”
Diane stepped in. “Sweetheart, don’t overreact. Rachel wanted a baby, and you were perfect! You carried two kids with no complications, and Rachel wants to keep her figure.”
It hit me like a freight train. This wasn’t about helping family. This was about convenience. Rachel kept her perfect body while I became her incubator.
“Good to know I’m a great broodmare,” I snapped.
Rachel’s face flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Quiet!” I roared as another contraction hit. “Liars. Manipulative—”
“Stop being so dramatic,” James sighed. “The baby’s here. Just let it go.”
I turned to the nurse. “I need a moment alone with my husband.”
Rachel and Diane hesitated, but the nurse ushered everyone but James out. The moment the door shut, I fixed James with an icy stare.
“We’re done.”
James blinked. “What?”
“This marriage. Us. You tricked me into being an incubator for your ex. You disrespected me for the last time.”
James laughed. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Am I? Then you won’t mind if I take everything I’m entitled to in the divorce.”
His face paled as he realized what that meant.
“Jessica—”
“No,” I cut him off. “You took my choice away. Now I’m taking back my life.”
I endured labor alone. When the newborn’s cries filled the room, I felt a mix of relief, grief, and clarity.
The nurse placed the baby in my arms. I gazed down at the tiny face—innocent despite everything.
Then I handed the baby back. “This child isn’t mine.”
Within a week, I met with a lawyer. I filed for divorce, secured full custody of my children, and made sure James felt the full consequences of his betrayal.
He tried to apologize—flowers, messages, even showing up at my parents’ house.
“Please, Jessica,” he begged. “I should have told you.”
“A mistake is forgetting an anniversary,” I replied. “This was a calculated betrayal.”
Three months later, I sat in my lawyer’s office, signing the final divorce papers.
“He agreed to everything,” she said. “The house, the accounts, custody. You won.”
I signed my name. “I didn’t win. I just stopped losing.”
As I stepped outside, my phone buzzed. A message from James: “Rachel had the baby christened. They want you to know they’re grateful.”
I deleted it and breathed in the crisp fall air.
Rachel got her perfect body and baby. Matt got his family. James got exactly what he deserved.
And me? I got my freedom.