I always dreamed that having a baby would bring my husband and me closer. I thought we’d become a real family, stronger than ever. But I never imagined that his mother would come between us—controlling everything while my husband let her. I tried setting boundaries, but nothing could have prepared me for the betrayal that left me standing at the door with my newborn in my arms, nowhere to go.
When I first found out I was pregnant, I was the happiest person in the world. Bill and I had dreamed about this for years, imagining the day we’d finally hold our child together. We had whispered about baby names in bed, picked out nursery colors, and envisioned our future.
But I wasn’t the only one waiting for this baby. Bill’s mother, Jessica, was waiting too—only in a way that turned my life into a nightmare.
She had never liked me. Not from the very beginning. She didn’t even pretend to be kind.
“Bill deserves someone better,” she would say to him, shaking her head whenever I was around. She never even tried to hide her disdain.
But the moment she found out I was pregnant, everything changed—and not in a good way.
She acted like this baby belonged to her, not me. She insisted on being involved in everything, as if she had more right to my child than I did.
“You need me to come with you to the doctor,” she’d say, already grabbing her coat before I could even protest. “I know what’s best.”
When we started preparing for the baby, she took over completely. She picked out the nursery furniture, dismissed my choices, and even declared, “The room should be blue. You’ll have a boy.”
“But we don’t know that yet,” I reminded her.
She waved a hand dismissively. “Trust me. I can feel it.”
My pregnancy was already miserable. I had constant nausea and could barely eat. But Jessica didn’t care. She would come over, filling the house with the smell of greasy food and smiling as Bill enjoyed her cooking. Meanwhile, I was stuck in the bathroom, sick to my stomach.
I had enough. I told Bill to stop sharing details about my pregnancy with her. He promised he would—but somehow, she always knew everything.
The worst was when we arrived at the clinic for the ultrasound—the one where we’d finally learn the baby’s gender. My heart was pounding with excitement. But as soon as we stepped inside, I froze. Jessica was already sitting in the waiting room, looking smug.
I turned to Bill. “How does she know we’re here?”
Bill shifted uncomfortably. “I might have mentioned it.”
I was furious but took a deep breath and let it go. This was supposed to be a happy day.
“It’s a girl,” the doctor announced with a smile.
Tears filled my eyes as I squeezed Bill’s hand. A daughter. Our little girl. But just as I turned to Bill, expecting him to share in my joy, I saw Jessica’s expression.
Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “You couldn’t even give my son a boy,” she sneered. “He needed an heir.”
I felt my hands tighten 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.”
My head pounded. I turned to Bill, waiting for him to defend me. But he just sighed. “Ignore her,” he muttered.
Ignore her? That’s all he ever did—let her insult me and then expect me to ignore it.
The months passed. When labor started, pain crashed over me like a wave. My vision blurred, my body trembled. It was too soon. The contractions came hard and fast. Bill rushed me to the hospital.
The delivery was rough. The doctors had to take my daughter away the moment she was born. I barely got to see her tiny face before they whisked her away.
“You’re losing too much blood!” a doctor shouted.
Everything went black.
When I woke up, I was weak. My body felt hollow, like a shell of myself. The doctor told me later that they hadn’t expected me to make it. I had come too close to dying.
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!” she hissed.
A nurse entered, carrying my daughter. My heart clenched, but before I could reach for her, Jessica snatched her from the nurse’s arms.
“What a beautiful girl,” she cooed, rocking her like she was hers.
I forced myself to sit up. “Give her to me,” I said, my voice weak but firm.
Jessica barely glanced at me. “She needs to be fed,” the nurse reminded her.
“Then give her formula,” Jessica said dismissively.
“No,” I said, my voice stronger. “I’m breastfeeding her.”
Jessica’s lips tightened. “But then you’ll always be taking her away from me! You won’t be able to leave her with me!”
Bill finally stepped in. He took our daughter from Jessica and placed her in my arms. The moment I held her, tears streamed down my face. She was mine. She was worth everything.
Two weeks passed, and Jessica made things worse. She refused to call my daughter by her real name. “Little Lillian,” she said, smiling as if she had a say.
“It’s Eliza,” I corrected.
Jessica ignored me. Bill never corrected her either.
Then one afternoon, she arrived uninvited, holding an envelope. Her eyes gleamed with something dark.
Bill frowned, taking the envelope. “What’s this?”
Jessica smirked. “Proof that Carol isn’t right for you. I knew she wasn’t faithful.”
“What nonsense is this?” I snapped.
Jessica shoved the envelope at Bill. “Open it. It’s a DNA test.”
Bill’s fingers trembled as he tore it open. His face darkened.
He turned to me. “You and the baby need to be out of here within an hour.” His voice was cold. Then he stormed out.
I gasped. My heart pounded. “What did you do?!” I screamed at Jessica.
She folded her arms. “Bill deserves a proper wife. One who will give me a grandson.”
I packed Eliza’s clothes with shaking hands, grabbed my things, and snatched Bill’s toothbrush before leaving.
Days later, after recovering, I went to Bill. I handed him an envelope. “This is the real DNA test,” I said. “I took your toothbrush.”
His eyes scanned the page. “99.9%,” he read aloud. His breath caught.
“Eliza is your daughter,” I said firmly.
His voice broke. “I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head. “No. You threw us away. Because of your mother.”
He reached for me. “Please. Come back.”
I took a step back. “I’m filing for divorce. I want full custody.”
“Carol—”
“Goodbye, Bill.”
As I drove away, I knew Eliza and I would be just fine.
