Mother’s Day brought an unexpected gift when my husband walked in with a baby—not ours. I thought it was a miracle, but the truth about where she came from broke my heart and my marriage.
I tossed another negative pregnancy test aside. “It’s over, Paul,” I said, worn out after five years of trying. He hugged me. “Don’t lose hope, Laura. We’ve got options.” His voice was calm, as always. “Two IVFs, every pill, even that meditation retreat your sister loved,” I said, tears falling. “I’m 35. How long do we keep going?” He held my face. “You’ll be a great mom. I believe it.” Paul’s faith never wavered, through two miscarriages and countless letdowns, always my steady support.
Paul was my partner in every way, researching clinics, wiping my tears, never giving up. “Stress hurts our chances,” he said. “Let’s rest for a bit.” I leaned into him. “I’m tired of waiting for our family.” He smiled. “We became a family at our wedding. This is just more.” That was Paul—hopeful, thoughtful, joining me at my cousin’s tedious events. When he mentioned Mother’s Day, I stopped him. “Not this year. It’s too hard.” He nodded, understanding.
When Paul left that morning for a “surprise,” I expected muffins. Instead, he brought a baby, wrapped in green, tiny lips moving. I stood shocked. “Paul, whose baby?” He beamed. “She needs a mom, Laura. Her name’s Sophie.” She was adorable, and I held her, heart racing. “Trust me,” he said. I called my sister, Megan, that night. “He just brought a baby home?” she said, alarmed. “Where’s the paperwork?” I admitted Paul was secretive. “He says it’s fine,” I told her, but worry grew.
Paul’s hushed calls all week unsettled me. On Monday, a woman called. “I’m Sophie’s mom, Tara,” she said, voice trembling. “Paul said you’d be her mom, that you couldn’t have kids. He offered your apartment.” My chest tightened. It was my grandfather’s apartment, meant for a youth center. “I’m 21,” she said. “I wasn’t ready.” Paul had cheated, used my inheritance, and taken her baby. When he returned, I held Sophie, steady. “Tara called. I know everything.” He confessed, saying, “I did it for you. She didn’t want her.”
“You cheated and lied,” I said, numb. “For me?” He pleaded, “You have Sophie now.” I shook my head. “You broke us.” Holding Sophie that night, I cried. A lawyer confirmed Paul’s actions were illegal, with no adoption. But I loved Sophie. I called Tara, proposing a legal adoption with me. She agreed, relieved. I filed for divorce, kept the apartment, and made Paul pay all costs. He texts, claiming he gave me my dream. But Sophie and I chose each other, and that’s what makes me her mom.
