I always imagined that having a baby would bring my husband and me closer, making our family happier. But I never could have anticipated that the real threat to our relationship would come from someone else—his mother.
Jessica, my mother-in-law, has always been controlling, and unfortunately, my husband allows it. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. Bill and I had dreamed of this moment for years.
Jessica, Bill’s mother, had also been eagerly awaiting the arrival of this baby. But she had never liked me.
From the beginning, she made it clear that she didn’t think I was good enough for her son.
“Bill deserves someone better,” she would say.
When I got pregnant, everything changed. Jessica inserted herself into every aspect of my pregnancy, starting from the very beginning. She insisted on attending every doctor’s appointment.
“You need me to come with you,” she’d say.
“I know what’s best.”
Throughout the pregnancy, I struggled with constant nausea, barely able to keep food down. But Jessica didn’t seem to care.
I repeatedly asked Bill to stop sharing everything with her and to set boundaries, but it never worked.
One day, when we went for the ultrasound to find out the baby’s gender, Jessica was already sitting in the waiting room.
“How did she know?” I whispered to Bill.
When the doctor revealed we were having a girl, I was overjoyed—it was what we had dreamed of, our little girl.
But before we could share the news, Jessica said, “You couldn’t even give my son a boy. He needed an heir.”
My stomach churned. “An heir to what? His video game collection? And for your information, the father determines the baby’s gender, not the mother.”
“That’s a lie. Your body is the problem. You were never right for my son.”
Once we were in the car, I turned to Bill. “How did she find out about the appointment?”
“I told her.”
“I asked you not to!” I cried.
“She’s the grandmother,” he muttered.
“And I’m your wife!” I replied. “I’m carrying our daughter! Don’t you care how I feel?”
“Just ignore her,” he said again.
The doctors rushed my daughter away the moment she was born.
“Please,” I begged, my voice weak. “Give her to me.”
“You’re losing too much blood!” a doctor shouted.
The world spun. And then—nothing.
When I woke up, everything felt meaningless.
Then, the door burst open, and there stood Jessica, her face twisted in 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.
“What a beautiful girl,” she cooed.
“She needs to be fed,” the nurse said firmly.
Jessica barely glanced at her. “Then give her formula.”
“I’m going to breastfeed her,” I said, my voice shaking.
She was mine. She was everything.
Two weeks passed, but Jessica never stopped showing up.
Pink luggage, bag, and hat for travel.
One afternoon, she barged in, holding an envelope.
“Proof,” she said.
“Proof of what?” Bill asked, confused.
“That Carol isn’t faithful,” she spat.
“What?! What did you do?” I screamed at Jessica.
I grabbed Eliza’s clothes, shaking with fear and grief. I packed her things, silent sobs wracking my body.
The DNA Test That Changed Everything
Days later, my mother took us in, holding me as I cried.
I handed Bill an envelope.
“This is the real DNA test,” I said quietly.
He opened it. “99.9%,” he whispered.
“Eliza is your daughter,” I told him.
“Please… come back,” he said.
I shook my head, stepping back.
“I’m filing for divorce. I want full custody.”