When Jessica’s husband, James, asks her to be a surrogate for his brother’s fiancée, she agrees against her better judgment. But as the pregnancy progresses, her doubts grow stronger. The fiancée remains unreachable, the details feel off, and when Jessica finally meets her, the truth shatters everything.
It all started when James, my husband of eight years, told me we had to attend a “family meeting” at his mother Diane’s house. I sighed, already bracing myself for whatever new drama his family had cooked up.
“What is it this time?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Did your mom find another scratch on her precious china and decide I’m to blame?”
James kept his eyes on the road, gripping the wheel a little too tightly. “It’s something important, Jess. Just hear them out, okay?”
That didn’t sound promising.
When we arrived, Diane greeted me with her usual stiff hug before ushering us into the living room. Matt, James’s younger brother, sat on the couch, looking awkward and fidgety.
“Jessica,” Diane began, her voice dripping with the fake sweetness she always used when she wanted something. “We have something very special to ask you.”
I glanced at James, but he was avoiding my gaze. My stomach tightened. This was not going to be good.
Matt cleared his throat. “I’m engaged.”
“Oh! Congratulations!” I said, genuinely happy for him. “When do we get to meet her?”
Matt and Diane exchanged a quick look. My excitement dimmed.
“Uh… I’m not sure,” Matt said, shifting in his seat. “She’s a wildlife photographer. Right now, she’s in the Ethiopian Highlands, studying Ethiopian wolves. The cell service there is terrible.”
I frowned. “So… you’ve proposed, but she hasn’t come back yet?”
“She will. But that’s not why we called this meeting,” Diane said, leaning forward. “She has some health issues and can’t carry a baby. But she really, really wants children.”
My heart dropped. I could already see where this was going.
“We were hoping,” Matt continued, “that you might consider being a surrogate for us.”
The room fell silent. My mouth felt dry as I tried to process what they were asking.
“You want me to carry your baby?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
James reached for my hand. “Think about what it would mean to Matt. And the compensation could really help us. We could put more money into the kids’ college funds, finally renovate the kitchen—”
I pulled my hand away. “Shouldn’t I at least talk to your fiancée before making such a huge decision?”
“She’s completely on board,” Matt assured me. “She helped create the embryos before she left. We just need a surrogate.”
“But I’ve never even met her.”
“She’ll be back in the States soon,” Diane said, patting my knee. “And I just know you two will get along splendidly.”
I felt trapped, surrounded by expectant faces. James knew exactly how to appeal to me—our kids, our home, our future. Despite the unease gnawing at me, I nodded slowly.
“I’ll do it.”
The next nine months were a whirlwind of doctor appointments, nausea, and exhaustion. James was supportive, but his encouragement always circled back to money. “Just think of what this will do for us, Jess. It’ll all be worth it.”
But something felt off. Matt visited often, checking on me and bringing vitamins, but his fiancée? Nowhere to be found. Not a single call, text, or email.
“Has Matt’s fiancée reached out yet?” I asked James one night as we lay in bed.
“She’s still traveling,” he murmured, half-asleep.
“For nine months? Without checking in on the woman carrying her baby?”
James sighed. “You’re overthinking. Just relax. It’s not good for the baby.”
I stared at the ceiling. “The baby,” I whispered. “Not me.”
As my due date approached, the feeling of dread intensified. I called Matt myself.
“Hey, when is your fiancée coming back? I’d really like to meet her before the birth.”
“Soon,” he promised. “She’s still in Ethiopia, photographing some rare bird.”
I hung up, frustrated. She was as elusive as the animals she chased.
The day I went into labor, James drove me to the hospital, gripping the wheel while I gripped the dashboard in pain. Matt and Diane arrived shortly after, but I waved them away.
“Out, both of you,” I snapped. “This is too personal.”
A nurse checked my vitals. “Six centimeters. Moving right along.”
Then James’s phone chimed. He checked the message, then stood. “I’ll be right back. Matt’s fiancée is here.”
Moments later, he returned—with a woman I knew all too well.
“Rachel?” I gasped, my pulse roaring in my ears.
Rachel. James’s high school sweetheart. The woman whose name I’d banned from our house after catching James drunkenly scrolling through her social media. The woman he admitted he’d never really gotten over.
“Jessica!” Rachel beamed. “I can’t thank you enough! You made our dream come true.”
The room spun around me. I turned to James, my voice trembling. “You knew. And you never told me.”
James’s expression remained cold. “It wasn’t relevant.”
“Not relevant?” I whispered, fury rising. “You tricked me into carrying a child for the woman you never got over?”
Diane stepped forward. “Sweetheart, don’t overreact. Rachel wanted a baby, and you were the perfect choice. You carried two children without complications. Besides, Rachel wants to keep her body.”
Everything clicked into place. This wasn’t about helping family. This was about using me as an incubator.
“Great to know I’m a good broodmare,” I spat.
Rachel’s face flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“Quiet!” I roared as another contraction hit. “Liars. Manipulative little—”
“Jessica, it’s done,” James said, exasperated. “Just let it go.”
I inhaled sharply, forcing back tears. Then I turned to the nurse. “I need a moment alone with my husband.”
The nurse quickly ushered everyone out. The second the door shut, I fixed James with a glare.
“We’re done.”
James blinked. “What?”
“This marriage. Us. You tricked me. You used me. Now I’m taking back my life.”
James scoffed. “You’re blowing this out of proportion.”
“Am I? Then you won’t mind if I take everything I’m legally entitled to in the divorce.”
Panic flickered in his eyes.
I delivered the baby alone, refusing to let any of them near me. When it was over, I held the tiny newborn for a moment—before handing the child back.
“This baby isn’t mine to keep.”
Within a week, I met with a lawyer. I filed for divorce, secured full custody of my children, and ensured James felt every consequence of his betrayal.
Months later, my lawyer slid the final papers across the table. “You won, Jessica.”
I signed with steady hands. “I didn’t win anything. I just stopped losing.”
As I stepped outside into the crisp autumn air, my phone buzzed.
A message from James: “Rachel had the baby christened yesterday. They want you to know they’re grateful.”
I deleted the message and smiled.
Rachel got her baby. James got what he deserved.
And me? I got my freedom.
