Give Birth to my Baby, Only to be Disregarded as His Mother

As soon as I gave birth, I was forced to give up my son to become my sister’s baby. It was all because she had gotten into an accident, lost her own child, and could no longer conceive. To keep her from spiraling into a deep depression, they decided my baby would be her cure.

I didn't even get to hear his first cry properly.

“Please,” I begged, reaching out with weak, bloodstained hands. “Let me hold him. Just once. Please.”

Sandro stepped in front of the nurse, blocking my view. His face was a mask of cold indifference.

“Stop making a scene, Candice,” he said, his voice flat. “You know the arrangement. Paula needs this baby more than you do. We can always make another one later. Don't be so selfish.”

Selfish? I had carried this child for nine months. I had bled, I had suffered, I had talked to him every single night.

I became hysterical. I thrashed against the bedsheets, screaming Sandro’s name, screaming for my baby, begging anyone in the room to help me. But the nurses just looked away.

A doctor rushed in. A needle pierced my IV line. Coldness rushed through my veins, stealing my voice, my fight, and then the world went dark.

When I woke up, the room was suffocatingly quiet.

No monitors beeping. No baby crying. No husband holding my hand.

Just the cold, sterile smell of disinfectant. I was entirely alone. No one had even dared to visit me.

I pushed the thin blanket off. Searing pain shot through my lower half the moment I moved, but I didn't care. I dragged my feet to the cold floor. My legs trembled, my vision blurred, but I kept going. I had to find my family.

I stumbled down the hallway, clutching my stomach, leaning against the white walls for support.

Then, I heard voices coming from another room at the end of the hall. The door was slightly ajar.

I crept closer, my breath catching in my throat.

Inside, the room was bright and warm. My sister, Paula, was sitting on the hospital bed, glowing, cradling a tiny blue bundle in her arms. Sandro was sitting right beside her, his gaze soft and full of adoration.

“Are you sure about this, Sandro?” Paula asked softly, tracing my baby’s cheek.

I held my breath, waiting for my husband to defend me. To say he loved me.

Sandro scoffed. A cruel, dismissive sound.

“Of course I’m sure,” he said, leaning in closer to her. “I never wanted a child with her anyway. But since the baby is here, I decided we could just take him. He will know you as his mother, and Candice will finally be out of the picture.”

Paula smiled, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“After all,” Sandro muttered, his voice dropping low, “I don’t care about her. I only care about you, Paula. I want us to be together. I regretted marrying her. It should be you.”

My knees gave out.

I hit the floor with a dull thud, but they didn’t even hear me. My hands clamped over my mouth to stifle the sob tearing its way up my throat.

He never loved me. He used me as an incubator for the woman he truly wanted.

I had been completely betrayed. I had no one left. No family. No husband. No son.

I didn't know what else to do. I just sat there on the cold tiles, my world shattering into a million unfixable pieces.

I had always thought Sandro was my safe haven. When my parents ignored me to praise Paula, Sandro was the one who held my hand. When I felt invisible in my own home, he made me feel seen. I married him thinking I had finally found the one person in the world who chose me first.

But now, the memories twisted into something ugly and venomous.

All those late nights he claimed he was stuck at the office. The sudden "business trips" that always seemed to happen whenever Paula was feeling down. The times I woke up in an empty bed, tracing the cold sheets while he was supposedly downstairs taking urgent calls.

He wasn’t working. He was with her.

Every gentle smile, every whispered promise, every time he touched my growing belly—it was never about me. It was always about Paula. I was just a vessel. A convenient, naive little fool who provided the perfect cover for their sick affair, and the perfect incubator to replace the child my sister had lost.

The realization clawed at my chest, suffocating me. I couldn't breathe. I was drowning in the sheer, cruel reality of it all.

“Mrs. Rossi?”

I flinched, looking up through blurred, tear-filled eyes.

A doctor stood in the hallway, looking down at me with a grim, heavy expression. He held a thick medical folder in his hands.

“What are you doing on the floor?” he asked gently, helping me sit up against the wall.

“My baby…” I choked out, my chest heaving. “They took my baby.”

The doctor’s eyes filled with a deep, pitying sorrow. He didn’t look at the room where my husband and sister were. He just looked at the folder in his hands.

“Candice,” he said, his voice dropping to a heavy whisper. “We ran the routine blood panels when you were admitted for delivery. We found something in your tests.”

I stared at him, my blood running cold.

“It seems you have cancer,” he said quietly. “And it’s already spread. I'm so sorry... you only have a few months left.”