Nothing prepares you for the moment you realize your entire pregnancy has been a lie. For me, it happened in the delivery room, when my husband’s ex-girlfriend Rachel walked in to claim “our” baby.
It had all seemed so noble at first – James’ brother Matt needed a surrogate for his fiancée in Ethiopia. The frozen embryos were ready, the compensation would help our family. Never mind that I’d never met this mysterious woman or that she never once contacted me during my pregnancy. I was too busy being the perfect broodmare to notice the red flags.
Then came labor day and the devastating truth. There was no Ethiopian fiancée. The baby I’d carried for nine months belonged to Rachel – the woman James had never gotten over, the one I’d caught him secretly obsessing over years before. His entire family had conspired to use me as their personal incubator.
The divorce was swift and merciless. I took everything I could from James, not out of revenge but because trust, once broken so completely, can never be rebuilt. Last I heard, Rachel and Matt are raising “their” baby together. As for me? I’ve found peace in knowing that sometimes walking away isn’t defeat – it’s the ultimate victory.
