I was 42, and every cent I’d ever saved was for one thing — IVF. My last chance to be a mom.
But the day I went to check the account, my stomach dropped.
It was empty.
My sister had taken it all… to pay for her third “dream wedding.”
I’d never been “the special one.”
Not the pretty sister, not the star, not the kind who turned heads.
I was the dependable one. The one who worked hard, saved money, and told herself she’d do things “later.”
And then, somehow, “later” became now. And I was forty-two. Alone.
After years of trying and a husband who slowly stopped coming home, reality hit me. I either had a baby on my own… or I’d have nothing.
“Sheesh, your husband left you, Lynn. Good riddance,” my mom muttered one afternoon, not even looking up from her magazine. “You saw it yourself — he never really tried.”
I stood at the kitchen table, trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
“And now you’re thinking about IVF?” my sister Jenna asked, brows raised.
“Yes. With a donor,” I said firmly. “I’ve made up my mind. I can’t wait any longer.”
“You’re not fifty, for God’s sake,” she scoffed. “You could still find a decent man.”
“I’m forty-two,” I repeated. “I’m ready to be a mom. I’ll do it alone.”
Mom stayed quiet. Jenna rolled her eyes dramatically.
“You’re insane. Everyone these days is living for themselves. Kids are shackles.”
“Tell that to your two ex-husbands.”
“I’m not afraid to start over,” she shot back. “Unlike you, acting like the world owes you something. And FYI, IVF costs a fortune.”
“I have the money. I’ve been saving for years. And I remembered our joint account — the one you and Dad opened for both of us. I’ve been adding to it for ten years.”
Jenna flinched. Mom suddenly grabbed a dish towel and began wiping an already clean counter.
I didn’t think much of it at the time.
I should have.
The next morning, I walked into the bank clutching my handbag.
“Good morning. I’d like to check the balance of a joint account under my name and my sister’s,” I told the woman behind the counter, sliding over my ID.
She typed, paused, then looked at me.
“The balance is zero.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“There are no funds. The entire amount was withdrawn five days ago.”
“By who?”
“Both parties have access. It was withdrawn by… Jenna M. Your sister.”
I don’t remember walking out. Everything felt muffled, like my ears had been stuffed with cotton.
The next thing I knew, I was standing at Jenna’s apartment, pressing the buzzer with a trembling hand.
The door swung open almost immediately. Jenna stood there in pajamas, a latte in hand, smiling like it was a normal Tuesday.
“Oh, Lynn! Come in, come in. I was just thinking about calling you.”
“You emptied the account?” My voice shook. “All of it?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Why?! That money wasn’t just yours! It was mine too — my savings, for the baby!”
“Oh, don’t start,” she groaned, setting her coffee down. “I told you this baby-on-your-own thing was nuts.”
“I wasn’t asking for your opinion. My half of that money would’ve paid for the IVF and maternity leave.”
“Yeah, well, weddings cost money. A luxury wedding? Even more. But this one is going to be perfect. My last wedding ever. I’m not cutting corners.”
“You burned through tens of thousands for centerpieces and champagne?”
She smirked and pulled a gold-foiled invitation from a drawer. “Here. Your invite.”
I stared at it. “You spent my money on engraved invitations? They’ll end up in the trash!”
“You just don’t get it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “This is about the image — floral walls, signature cocktails, a live harpist.”
“I was trying to create a life, and you were building a circus.”
“Oh my God, Lynn. Always so dramatic.”
“I saved for years, quietly, while you blew through your second alimony on Pilates classes and candles.”
“I’m not apologizing for living well. You want to be a single mom? Go for it. But don’t act like you’re owed anything.”
At that moment, Mom appeared in the doorway. “Girls, it’s too early for yelling.”
“She stole from me,” I said, pointing at Jenna. “The joint account you and Dad opened? I kept adding to it. She drained it.”
“Lynn, please,” Mom sighed. “Jenna just wants to celebrate her new beginning. Don’t hold her back. Someone in this family deserves to feel joy.”
“I don’t? What about my beginning?”
“You’ve always been resilient. You’ll figure it out. But Jenna… she needs this. Be happy for her.”
“Happy? For the woman who robbed me?”
“Lynn, sweetheart—”
“No. I’m done being the one who sacrifices.”
I left, the invitation in my fist like a cursed scroll. Jenna had taken everything. But it wasn’t over.
If she wanted her perfect wedding, she’d get it — on my terms.
I’d never spoken to Tyler — Jenna’s new fiancé — one-on-one before. He was the one she swore was “different this time.”
But that morning, I dialed his number.
“If this is about Jenna, I’d rather know than guess,” he said, agreeing to meet.
We met at an upscale café near his office. He stood when I arrived.
“Lynn. You okay?”
“No,” I said, sitting across from him. “And you won’t be either in five minutes.”
His brow furrowed. “What’s going on?”
“Jenna drained a joint savings account. It was my IVF fund. She took every cent — for the wedding.”
He looked shocked. “What? I’m paying for the wedding. All of it. She said she wanted me to feel like it was my gift to us.”
I stared. “You’re paying? For what, exactly?”
He pulled out his phone, showing me receipts: venue deposit, catering, invitations, floral designer — all from his account.
“So if you’re covering everything, where’s my money?” I asked.
He sat back slowly. “You think she’s hiding something?”
“I don’t think. I know.”
His jaw tightened. “If you find out… tell me.”
“I will,” I said, standing.
Outside, I breathed in the cold air. Jenna hadn’t just stolen from me. She was hiding something big. And I was going to find it.
A week later, I had my chance.
I told Jenna I wanted to help with the wedding, that I was over it. She believed every word, calling me her “super sister” and handing me her full schedule.
One night, after too much prosecco, she passed out on the couch. I opened her laptop.
Buried in her inbox, I found it — an email thread titled: RE: Divorce Proceedings – Gregory S.
The attachment was clear: her ex-husband was threatening court unless she paid him restitution.
The next day, I walked into her bridal studio. She turned, beaming — until she saw my face.
“Lynn. You look… intense.”
“I am,” I said, handing her the printed email.
Her smile dropped. “Where did you get this?”
“Your inbox. Don’t worry — I hesitated. Then I remembered you didn’t hesitate before robbing me blind.”
“You had no right.”
“And you had no conscience. Greg has evidence you cheated. You’re hiding this from Tyler, planning to fix it after the wedding.”
“I was going to take care of it—”
“No. You were going to lie. I want my money back. Every cent. By Friday. No tricks. Or Tyler gets everything.”
She stared at me like I was a stranger. “You’re bluffing.”
“Try me.”
I walked out.
By the time I got home, my phone buzzed — a wire transfer. The exact amount, to the cent.
A year later, I was in the hospital holding my newborn daughter.
Seven pounds, one ounce. Healthy. Beautiful. Mine.
And worth every single battle I fought to get to her.