For years, I dreamed of becoming a mother. After endless doctor visits and heartbreak, I finally saw two pink lines. I was pregnant. But when I told my husband, Aiden, he looked me in the eye and asked, “Is it too late to undo it?”Days later, his mother, Gloria, delivered a chilling ultimatum: “If it’s not a boy, you’ll have to leave.” I was stunned. But the worst came when I overheard them talking: Aiden had a vasectomy. He had a mistress—Veronica. And Gloria? She was in on it all. “Pressure her. She cracks, she leaves.”

But I didn’t cry. I planned the baby shower anyway—because I had a plan of my own.
I invited Veronica. At the reveal, there was no pink or blue inside the cake—only red. And my wedding ring. I handed Aiden divorce papers on the spot. “Forever doesn’t survive betrayal,” I said. And to Gloria: “Now you don’t have grandchildren.” I walked away with my hand on my belly. Just me. And my daughter. Finally free.