My cousin Evelyn came to stay with us for a few days, and I happily agreed.
In the middle of the night, I woke up to strange sounds coming from the bathroom—sounds I couldn't even begin to describe. And they were coming from Evelyn and my husband, Damian Holloway.
“Damian, am I the one who makes you happy, or is it Vivian who does?”
Evelyn’s voice was sweet, soft, almost like honey. It was enough to melt anyone. Then, just a second later, I heard my husband’s eager reply:
“Baby, of course, it’s you. Vivian’s like a dead fish in bed, and she has stretch marks on her stomach. Just seeing them makes me lose my appetite. How could I possibly feel anything for her?”
...
Lately, with the changing season, I’ve had trouble sleeping. But Evelyn has been so thoughtful, making me a cup of warm milk every night, claiming it would help me sleep better.
And sure enough, after drinking the warm milk, I’d sleep soundly, hearing no noise until morning.
But tonight, I forgot to drink the milk Evelyn had made for me, and in the middle of the night, I woke up again.
The clock on the bedside table read 2 a.m., and the space next to me was empty. I reached out, but the bed was already cold.
The bathroom light was on, and I assumed it was Damian in there.
But the next second, I heard Evelyn's voice.
“Damian, am I the one who makes you happy, or is it Vivian who does?”
Evelyn’s voice, naturally soft and seductive, was even more so now, dripping with sweetness.
Damian’s voice immediately followed:
“Baby, of course, it’s you. Vivian is like a dead fish in bed, and she has stretch marks on her stomach. Just seeing them makes me lose my appetite, how could I feel any desire?”
I was shaking with anger, my fists clenching in fury.
Then, I heard something that hit me like a ton of bricks.
“Thanks to her, we have Kylo. Otherwise, you'd probably be disgusted with me by now.”
Evelyn’s voice oozed satisfaction as she giggled, smug and triumphant.
I froze. Kylo was the child I had struggled so hard to conceive. What did she mean by “helping them have him?”
“Haha, I’m so glad you even came up with the crazy idea of having Vivian be a surrogate for us.”
I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. My whole body trembled.
After two years of marriage to Damian, we hadn’t been able to have a child.
We went to the hospital for tests, and it turned out that Damian’s sperm count was too low. Despite trying various treatments, nothing worked.
Seeing our frustration, the doctor suggested in vitro fertilization (IVF), a method with a higher success rate than natural conception.
Damian initially refused, worried that egg retrieval would hurt my body. He didn’t want me to go through that.
Damian was an orphan, and I knew how much he wanted a child, a family to call his own.
So I comforted him, telling him I wasn’t scared. I don’t even remember how many ovulation shots I had to take or how many times I lay in that hospital bed before the fertilization finally worked.
But I never expected that the egg used wasn’t mine—it was Evelyn’s.
During my pregnancy, my symptoms were severe. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, and lost so much weight. I became thin and exhausted.
Damian was heartbroken, even offering to quit his job to stay home and take care of me and the baby.
After ten months of suffering, I gave birth to Kylo.
I’ll never forget that day. Damian stood beside my bed, tears in his eyes, holding my hand tight, telling me that he would only ever want one child—and that he would never let me suffer like this again.
But to think that the child I went through all that pain for was actually Evelyn and Damian’s.
I trembled with rage as the sounds from the bathroom continued.
“Baby, I miss you so much.”
Then came the rustling sounds, and just after that, Evelyn’s shameless moans filled the room.