I can’t believe my life has come to this. I’ve always been the person people lean on, the one who fixes things, solves problems, and does everything in her power to help others. But now, when I need support the most, it feels like I’m completely alone.
A sad woman standing by the window | Source: Midjourney
My name is Rachel, 36 years old, and I’ve been married to Will, 35, for nearly ten years. We’ve been through a lot together, more than most couples, I’d say. Our love story has been both a blessing and a battleground, especially when it comes to having children.
Husband and wife at a doctor’s appointment | Source: Midjourney
For four long years, we tried to conceive. We went through all the tests and all the treatments. But nothing worked. And then, finally, the diagnosis came; I couldn’t carry a child to term.
It was as if the world I carefully built just crumbled beneath my feet. I’d always dreamed of being a mom, and in that moment, the dream shattered.
A man and a woman | Source: Midjourney
“Rachel, we can get through this,” Will had said, his voice steady but his eyes betraying the same fear and heartbreak I felt.
I nodded, tears streaming down my face as I clutched his hand like a lifeline.
“But how, Will? How do we get through this when everything we’ve ever wanted just…slipped away?”
“We’ll find a way,” he whispered, pulling me into his arms. “We always do.”
Man and a woman hugging | Source: Midjourney
We explored every option, and when the doctors recommended surgery to remove some uterine growths, we jumped at the chance, hoping it would increase our chances. However, the complications during surgery were more than we anticipated. I still had my ovaries, but the chances of carrying a child were now nonexistent.
Woman in a hospital gown | Source: Midjourney
When I broke the news to Nikkie, my best friend since college, I could barely get the words out.
“Nikkie, I… I can’t have children. Not ever.”
Without missing a beat, Nikkie placed her hand on mine. “I’ll do it,” she said, her voice calm, as if she were offering to pick up my groceries. “I’ll carry your baby.”
I stared at her, stunned. “Are you serious? This isn’t just some casual favor. It’s a huge commitment.”
Nikkie smiled, squeezing my hand. “Rachel, you’d do it for me in a heartbeat.”
Two friends consoling each other | Source: Midjourney
After two failed IVF attempts, she finally became pregnant on the third try. The day our son was born was the happiest day of my life.
But in the whirlwind of diapers, sleepless nights, and returning to work after a brief leave, I missed the signs; signs that something wasn’t right. Between my stressful full-time job and two part-time gigs, I was barely holding it together.
The weight of being the primary breadwinner and managing all the bills, including the astronomical costs of surrogacy, had me on the edge of burnout.
Tired woman sleeping on her office desk | Source: Midjourney
During this time, Nikkie and Will started spending more time together, which I chalked up to her role in our lives. It made sense, didn’t it? She was our friend and had carried our child. I wanted them to have a good relationship. So, when I’d come home from my weekend job to find her already at our house, laughing with Will, I didn’t think much of it.
“Hey, Nikkie,” I’d say, dropping my bag by the door. “What brings you here?”
“Oh, just chatting with Will,” she’d reply with a smile that seemed so genuine. “Figured I’d keep him company until you got home.”
Three people in a room | Source: Midjourney
I’d nod, grateful for her kindness. “Thanks. I appreciate it. You guys having fun?”
Will would just shrug. “Just talking about the baby, Rach. You know, plans, what to expect.”
It felt normal, almost comforting. How could I have known?
The first time I noticed something off about our son was that he had brown eyes. Both Will and I have blue eyes, so I did a double-take. But then, I remembered reading somewhere that genetics could be tricky, that it wasn’t impossible for two blue-eyed parents to have a brown-eyed child.
Woman looking into her child’s eyes | Source: Midjourney
I brushed it off, convincing myself it was just one of those rare genetic flukes. But recently, everything came crashing down. I took our son to a routine doctor’s appointment. They did a metabolic panel and some blood tests, and when the results came back, I froze. His blood type was B+. Mine’s A+, Will’s O+. It didn’t add up.
Woman and her child at the clinic | Source: Midjourney
I immediately panicked, thinking the fertility clinic had made a mistake. Maybe they’d implanted the wrong embryo. My mind raced, and I started calling lawyers, ready to sue the clinic for their negligence.
Before taking any legal action, I knew I needed to be sure, so I arranged for a DNA test. The results felt like a sledgehammer to the chest: I wasn’t our son’s biological mother. But Will was still the father.
