After four years of marriage, I still wasn’t a mother.
I thought we had tried everything—IVF, hormone therapy, acupuncture, even prayer. But in the end, Jacob insisted on surrogacy. “Your health is too fragile,” he said. I believed him. I always believed him.
Now, the surrogate was eight months pregnant with our baby. I spent my days getting the nursery ready, picking tiny clothes, painting the walls a soft shade of green. I smiled every time I thought of holding our child.
Until that night.
I walked into Jacob’s study, meaning to leave a file on his desk. But I froze just outside the door when I heard voices inside.
“You’ve been switching Maurice’s pills for years?” It was his cousin, Roy, sounding shocked. “Jacob, that’s—”
“Necessary,” Jacob said calmly. “She never needed to get pregnant. I made sure of that.”
“You replaced her supplements?”
“Yes. I told the doctors she had rare complications. I adjusted her doses myself. She kept thinking it was her body failing, but I was just... keeping things in control.”
“Jesus,” Roy muttered. “She wanted to adopt. You said no.”
“The Ricci heir must be blood,” Jacob snapped. “I needed a child with my DNA. Not some stranger’s. And Maurice? She’d never survive pregnancy. She’s too soft.”
“But you let her believe it was her fault all these years.”
There was a pause. I pressed a hand to my mouth, feeling sick.
“She won’t find out,” Jacob said flatly. “She’s obedient. She trusts me. Besides, Valentina's already eight months in. It’s done.”
I stumbled away from the door, heart pounding, vision blurring.
Everything I thought I knew was a lie.
All those nights I cried in silence, blaming myself... all those painful injections, the guilt, the shame. Jacob had planned it all. He never wanted me to carry our child. He just wanted a Ricci heir. And he used me to get one.
I remembered one night, curled on the bathroom floor, a negative test trembling in my hands. My body wracked with sobs.
“I’m broken,” I whispered. “Why won’t my body work? What’s wrong with me?”
Jacob knelt beside me, pulling me into his arms. “Shh, amore. Don’t say that,” he murmured into my hair. “This isn’t your fault. Maybe… maybe we’re just not meant to take that road. But we’ll find another way. I promise. I love you more than anything. Baby or no baby.”
I had believed him. I had believed every word.
And then another…
Another time, after a failed IVF cycle, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, numb. Jacob brushed his fingers down my arm, voice low and soothing.
“Look at me,” he said softly, tilting my chin. “Maurice, you’re everything. You hear me? Don’t let this consume you. You’re my heart. And I’ll protect you—even from yourself if I have to.”
That last sentence stung now. At the time, I thought it was love.
Now, I knew it was control.
I walked out of the house without a coat, shaking, barely feeling the cold night air. At the street corner, I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers.
“Hello?” the receptionist answered.
“I need an appointment,” I said, my voice cold.
“For what service, ma’am?”
I took a breath. “Abortion.”
“Ma’am, how far along are you?”
“It’s not me,” I said. “It’s the surrogate,” I said. “But I don’t want this baby anymore. Cancel everything.
There was silence. “Ma’am… Are you really sure?”
“Y-yes…”
I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care how much I had spent decorating that nursery. I didn’t care how many weeks were left. If Jacob thought he could build a family on lies, he was about to learn what it felt like to lose everything.
I ended the call and shoved it to my purse but then—
“Maurice!”
I turned.
Jacob was storming toward me, face red with anger.
“You really called the hospital?” he shouted. “You tried to cancel the baby?”
I didn’t move. “I know what you did, Jacob,” I said, my voice low. “You lied to me. You changed my medicine. You made me believe I couldn’t have children.”
He didn’t even look sorry. He just stared at me.
“I did it for you,” he said. “You’re too weak to carry a baby. You would have died, Maurice. I couldn’t risk losing you.”
“You didn’t even let me choose.”
“I protected you,” he said. “You don’t see it now, but I saved you. Stop being dramatic.” He stepped closer. “And now, you want to kill the baby? Our baby?” he asked. “What happened to your faith, Maurice? You always said children are blessings. You believe in God. How can you do this?”
I couldn’t answer.
“Where’s your heart?” he said. “You’re not that kind of person.”
I looked at him, my lips trembling. My chest felt tight.
“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered.
His arms came around me. His voice softened like nothing happened.
“I know,” he said gently. “You were upset. But it’s okay now. I’ll handle everything.”
I said nothing.
And just like that… the lies continued.
His arms were around me, his lips near my ear, murmuring comfort laced with control. I stood frozen in that false warmth, heart thudding.
Then—
Click.
The front door opened.
Valentina stepped in, heels clicking on the marble, curls bouncing. She wore my silk dress that hugged her pregnant belly.
I stiffened. “What is she doing here?”
Jacob let go.
Valentina smiled, slow and syrupy. “Oh,” she said sweetly, “didn’t Jacob tell you? This is where I’m going to live now.”
