My doctor told me my body was too tired to carry, but our embryos were fine — and suggested surrogacy. Greg squeezed my hand and said, “We’ll do it.” That’s how Lisa entered our lives: cheerful, eager to help us become parents. We did everything right — contracts, lawyers, counseling, medical clearance — and the embryo transfer worked. When the positive test came, I cried into Greg’s shirt and he kept saying, “We’re going to be parents.”
At first Lisa was great: ultrasounds, bump photos, sweet texts calling me “Mama.” But in the third trimester her communication faded and she began asking for money for “emergencies” the contract already covered. Greg always urged kindness and I kept wiring cash.
Then she called, too cheerful: she and Greg were together, they’d spent the money on a wedding, and I’d “see” our baby later. My world froze. Greg couldn’t deny it. He said he filed for divorce, blamed stress and connection. I left him.
I got a lawyer. Legally, the baby was mine, but Lisa and Greg moved out of state. I collected evidence, fought for custody. Weeks later I saw Lisa’s social post: wedding photos with my son. The court date was days away — the wedding was in three.
So I went there. Blending into the guests, I slipped into the back seat. At the ceremony I watched them vow and kiss. At the reception, I stepped forward, placed a box of evidence on their table — texts, contracts, bank transfers exposing fraud. The room went silent.
Police and child services arrived. The officials confirmed the baby was legally mine. I walked to my son’s car seat, lifted him to my chest, and cried relief. That night, a judge granted me emergency custody; Greg and Lisa were held for fraud.
People say I was dramatic. But after so much quiet loss and betrayal, I needed to stand up for myself — and for my child.