I always thought that having a baby would bring Bill and me closer, that we would finally become a family in every sense of the word. But I never imagined that his mother, Jessica, would take control of everything—and that Bill would let her.
I tried to set boundaries, to make it clear that this was our baby, our family. But nothing could have prepared me for the ultimate betrayal—the moment I found myself standing at the door, holding my newborn in my arms, with nowhere to go.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was overjoyed. Bill and I had talked about this for so long, dreaming about the day we’d finally hold our baby in our arms. I pictured us decorating the nursery together, picking out baby names, and sharing those first precious moments as new parents.
But I wasn’t the only one waiting for this child. Jessica had been waiting too—only in a way that made my life unbearable.
She had never liked me. Not even a little. From the moment Bill introduced me, she made it clear that she thought I wasn’t good enough for her son.
“Bill deserves someone better,” she would say, shaking her head whenever I was around.
But the moment she found out I was pregnant, everything changed. And not in a good way.
It was as if the baby belonged to her, not me. She insisted on being involved in everything.
“You need me to come with you to the doctor,” she would say, already grabbing her coat before I could protest. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
When we started preparing for the baby, she took over completely. She picked out furniture, dismissed my choices, and even declared, “The nursery should be blue. You’ll have a boy.”
My pregnancy was already difficult. I had constant nausea, barely able to eat. But Jessica didn’t care. She would come over, filling the house with the smell of greasy food, smiling as Bill enjoyed her cooking, while I was stuck in the bathroom, sick to my stomach.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I told Bill to stop sharing any details with her.
But somehow, when we arrived at the clinic for the ultrasound—the one where we’d find out the baby’s gender—Jessica was already there, sitting in the waiting room like she belonged. I froze. How did she even know?
“It’s a girl,” the doctor said.
I squeezed Bill’s hand, my heart pounding. We had dreamed of this moment. A daughter. A beautiful little girl. I turned to Bill, expecting him to share my excitement.
His face lit up with joy. But then I saw Jessica. Her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“You couldn’t even give my son a boy,” she sneered. “He needed an heir.”
I stared at her, my hands tightening into fists. “An heir to what? His video game collection?” My voice came out sharper than I intended. “And just so you know, the father determines the baby’s gender, not the mother.”
Jessica’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a lie,” she snapped. “Your body is the problem! You were never right for my son.”
The doctor cleared her throat, shifting awkwardly. A nurse glanced at me with sympathy. I forced myself to stay calm, rubbing my temples. “Let’s go, Bill,” I muttered.
Once we were in the car, I turned to him. “How did she find out about the appointment?”
Bill avoided my eyes. “I told her.”
Anger bubbled inside me. “I asked you not to! She stresses me out too much!”
“She’s the grandmother,” he said.
I shook my head. “And I’m your wife! I’m carrying our daughter! Don’t you care how I feel?”
“Just ignore her,” Bill said.
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 protect me.
When labor started, pain crashed over me like a wave. My vision blurred. My body trembled. It was too soon.
The contractions hit hard and fast, each one stealing my breath. Bill rushed me to the hospital, barely making it in time.
Then everything went wrong.
The doctors took my daughter away the moment she was born. I reached for her, desperate to hold her, to see her tiny face. But they didn’t let me.
“You’re losing too much blood!” a doctor shouted.
The world spun. The voices faded. Then—nothing.
When I woke up, my body felt like an empty shell. The doctor told me I had almost died.
Then the door burst open. Jessica stormed in, her face tight with anger.
“You didn’t even tell me you were in labor!” she snapped.
Bill sighed. “It happened too fast.”
“That’s no excuse!” Jessica hissed.
A nurse entered, holding my daughter. My heart clenched. But before I could reach for her, Jessica stepped forward and snatched her from the nurse’s arms.
“What a beautiful girl,” Jessica said, rocking my daughter. Her voice was soft, but her eyes held triumph.
I forced myself to sit up despite my weakness. “Give her to me.”
Jessica barely glanced at me. “She needs to be fed,” the nurse said.
Jessica smirked. “Then give her formula.”
Bill finally stepped in. He pried our daughter from Jessica’s grip and placed her in my arms.
The moment I held her, I burst into tears. She was mine. She was worth everything.
Two weeks passed, and Jessica kept coming over, refusing to call my daughter by her real name. “Little Lillian,” she would say, smiling as if she had a say in it.
“It’s Eliza,” I corrected.
Jessica didn’t even acknowledge me. Bill never corrected her either.
One afternoon, she arrived uninvited again, holding an envelope. My stomach twisted.
Bill frowned as he took it. “What’s this?”
Jessica’s lips curled into a smirk. “Proof. Carol isn’t faithful.”
Bill’s fingers trembled as he read the DNA test inside. His face darkened.
“You and the baby need to be out of here within an hour,” he said coldly before storming out.
I gasped. “What did you do?!” I screamed at Jessica.
She folded her arms. “You were never worthy of my son.”
I held Eliza close. “That test isn’t real!”
Jessica scoffed. “Bill deserves a proper wife. One who will give me a grandson.”
Rage exploded inside me. I packed my things, my hands shaking. Before leaving, I snatched Bill’s toothbrush.
Days passed. I stayed with my mother. Then, once I recovered, I got my own DNA test done.
I knocked on Bill’s door. He opened it, his face unreadable. “What do you want?”
I handed him an envelope. “This is the real DNA test. I took your toothbrush.”
He tore it open. “99.9%,” he read aloud, his breath catching.
“Eliza is your daughter,” I said firmly.
Bill looked at me. “Carol, I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “No. You didn’t stop to think. You threw us away.”
His voice broke. “Please. I’ll cut her off. Just come back.”
I took a step back. “I’m filing for divorce. I want full custody.”
Bill reached for me, but I stepped away. “Goodbye, Bill.”
As I drove off, I knew one thing for sure: Eliza and I would be just fine.
