I thought my mother-in-law had finally accepted me when she hosted a beautiful baby shower with balloons, gifts, and cake. For a brief moment, I believed things had changed—until she placed a sash across my chest that read “Surrogate Mother.” My heart stopped. Heather, my sister-in-law, even wore one that said “Mom.”

Eric and I had been through everything together, and this baby was our long-awaited miracle. But Patricia twisted an old comment I once made about Heather’s struggles into a cruel fantasy that I was carrying a child for them. When we protested, they insisted we had “promised.” Eric grabbed my hand, and we left the party to stunned silence.

Later that night, Mark called Eric with an offer: half a million dollars if we handed over the baby. Eric actually considered it, thinking about mortgages and security. I felt something inside me break—but I smiled, pretended to agree, and started planning my own way out.

Months later, after giving birth to our daughter, I took her in my arms and walked out. Before leaving, I emptied our joint account—every dollar, including the $500,000—and left divorce papers on the counter. That night, as my phone lit up with furious messages, I held my baby close and whispered the truth: she was mine. Entirely mine.