I always imagined that having a child would bring us closer together, that it would make our bond unbreakable. But my husband’s mother had other plans. She controlled everything, and my husband let her. I tried to set boundaries, but nothing could have prepared me for the betrayal that left me standing at the door, holding my newborn in my arms.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I felt like the happiest woman alive. Bill and I had dreamed of this for so long, imagining the day we would finally hold our baby.
But I wasn’t the only one waiting for this child. Bill’s mother, Jessica, was waiting too, but in a way that made my life unbearable.
She had never liked me, never even pretended to. From the beginning, she made it clear that I wasn’t good enough for her son.
“Bill deserves someone better,” she would say, shaking her head whenever I was near.
But the moment she found out I was pregnant, everything changed—and not for the better.
It was as if she thought the baby belonged to her, not me. She insisted on being involved in everything.
“You need me to go with you to the doctor,” she would say, already putting on her coat before I had a chance to protest.
“I know best.”
When we started preparing for the baby’s arrival, she took over completely. She picked out the furniture, dismissed my choices, and even declared, “The nursery should be blue. You’re having a boy.”
My pregnancy was already difficult. I suffered from constant nausea, barely able to eat.
Jessica didn’t care. She would come over, filling the house with the smell of greasy food, smiling as Bill enjoyed her cooking.
Meanwhile, I would sit in the bathroom, sick to my stomach. I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Bill to stop sharing details with her.
Yet somehow, when we arrived at the clinic for the ultrasound where we would find out our baby’s gender, Jessica was already sitting in the waiting room, as if she belonged there. I froze. How did she know?
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.
I squeezed Bill’s hand, my heart pounding. We had dreamed of this moment.
A daughter. Our beautiful baby girl. I turned to Bill, expecting him to share my joy.
His face lit up, but then I noticed Jessica. Her lips pressed into a thin line.
“You couldn’t even give my son a boy,” she scoffed. “He needs an heir.”
I stared at her, my hands balling into fists. “An heir to what? His video game collection?” My voice was sharper than I intended. “And for the record, the father determines the baby’s gender, not the mother.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a lie,” she snapped. “The problem is with your body! You’re weak. You were never good enough for my son.”
The doctor cleared his throat awkwardly, while the nurse cast me a sympathetic glance. I forced myself to stay calm, rubbing my temples. “Let’s go, Bill,” I muttered.
As soon as we got into the car, I turned to him. “How did she know about this appointment?”
Bill avoided my eyes. “I told her.”
Rage boiled inside me. “I asked you not to! She’s too much, Bill!”
“She’s the grandmother,” he said.
I shook my head. “And I’m your wife! I’m carrying our child! Don’t you care how I feel?”
“Just ignore her,” Bill muttered.
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one being attacked. He wasn’t the one feeling completely alone. My own husband wouldn’t even stand up for me.
When labor started, the pain hit me like a wave. My vision blurred. My body trembled. It was too soon.
The contractions came fast and strong, each one stealing my breath. Bill rushed me to the hospital just in time.
Nurses surrounded me, bright lights blinding my eyes. The pain was unbearable.
I squeezed Bill’s hand, gasping. “I can’t…”
“You’re doing great,” he said, but his face had gone pale.
Then everything went wrong.
The moment my daughter was born, the doctors whisked her away. I reached for her, desperate to hold her, to see her tiny face. But they didn’t let me.
“Please,” I begged, my voice weak. “Give her to me.”
“You’re losing too much blood!” a doctor shouted.
The world spun. Voices faded. Then—nothing.
I wasn’t the first person to hold my daughter. When I finally woke up, my body felt hollow.
Every breath was a struggle, my chest barely rising under the weight of exhaustion. My skin was cold, my hands weak as I tried to move.
Later, the doctor told me it was a miracle I survived. They hadn’t expected me to make it.
I had been too close to the edge, my body drained from the blood loss. The thought that I might have died without ever seeing my daughter’s face made my stomach twist.
Then the door burst open. Jessica stormed in, her face twisted with anger.
“You didn’t even tell me you were in labor!” she snapped.
Bill sighed. “It all happened too fast.”
“That’s no excuse!” Jessica hissed.
Finally, a nurse entered with my baby. My heart clenched. But before I could reach for her, Jessica stepped forward and took her from the nurse’s arms.
“What a beautiful girl,” Jessica cooed, rocking her. Her voice was soft, but her eyes gleamed with triumph.
I reached for my child, but Jessica didn’t hand her over.
“She needs to eat,” the nurse reminded her, stepping closer.
Jessica barely glanced at her. “Then give her formula.”
I forced myself to sit up, despite the weakness in my body. “I’m breastfeeding.”
Jessica’s lips thinned. “Then you’ll always take her from me! You won’t let me have her!” Her voice turned sharp, accusing.
Finally, Bill stepped in. He took our daughter from Jessica’s arms and placed her in mine.
As I held her, I wept, overwhelmed with love. She was mine. She was worth everything.
Two weeks passed. My body still felt heavy, every movement exhausting. Bill had taken time off work to help, but it was still hard.
Jessica only made things worse. She came over almost every day, ignoring my exhaustion. She refused to call my daughter by her real name.
“Little Lillian,” she would say with a smile, as if she had any right.
“It’s Eliza,” I corrected her.
Jessica ignored me. Bill never corrected her either.
One afternoon, she showed up uninvited again, clutching an envelope tightly. Her eyes shone with something unsettling. My stomach twisted.
Bill frowned as he took the envelope from her hands. “What’s this?”
Jessica smirked. “Proof. I knew Carol wasn’t right for you. I knew she wasn’t faithful.”
I held Eliza tighter, my heart pounding. “What nonsense is this?”
Jessica’s eyes gleamed. “Open it. It’s a DNA test.” She shoved the envelope toward Bill.
With shaking hands, Bill opened it. His eyes scanned the paper. His face darkened.
He turned to me, jaw clenched. “You and the baby need to leave within an hour,” he said coldly. Then, without another word, he walked away.
I gasped. My legs nearly gave out. “What?! What did you do?” I screamed at Jessica.
She folded her arms. “You were never good enough for my son.”
Tears blurred my vision as I packed Eliza’s tiny clothes into a bag.
I grabbed my things, my heart hammering in my chest. Before leaving, I snatched Bill’s toothbrush.
Out in the cold night air, I held Eliza close, my sobs breaking free.
Bill had thrown us away without a second thought. He didn’t ask questions. He blindly believed Jessica.
But I knew the truth.
Eliza was his daughter. I had never betrayed him. But none of that mattered. He had chosen his mother over us.