After four years of marriage, I still wasn’t a mother.

I thought we had tried everything—IVF, hormone therapy, acupuncture, even prayer. But in the end, Jacob insisted on surrogacy. “Your health is too fragile,” he said. I believed him. I always believed him.

Now, the surrogate was eight months pregnant with our baby. I spent my days getting the nursery ready, picking tiny clothes, painting the walls a soft shade of green. I smiled every time I thought of holding our child.

Until that night.

I walked into Jacob’s study, meaning to leave a file on his desk. But I froze just outside the door when I heard voices inside.

“You’ve been switching Maurice’s pills for years?” It was his cousin, Roy, sounding shocked. “Jacob, that’s—”

“Necessary,” Jacob said calmly. “She never needed to get pregnant. I made sure of that.”

“You replaced her supplements?”

“Yes. I told the doctors she had rare complications. I adjusted her doses myself. She kept thinking it was her body failing, but I was just... keeping things in control.”

“Jesus,” Roy muttered. “She wanted to adopt. You said no.”

“The Ricci heir must be blood,” Jacob snapped. “I needed a child with my DNA. Not some stranger’s. And Maurice? She’d never survive pregnancy. She’s too soft.”

“But you let her believe it was her fault all these years.”

There was a pause. I pressed a hand to my mouth, feeling sick.

“She won’t find out,” Jacob said flatly. “She’s obedient. She trusts me. Besides, Valentina's already eight months in. It’s done.”

I stumbled away from the door, heart pounding, vision blurring.

Everything I thought I knew was a lie.

All those nights I cried in silence, blaming myself... all those painful injections, the guilt, the shame. Jacob had planned it all. He never wanted me to carry our child. He just wanted a Ricci heir. And he used me to get one.

I remembered one night, curled on the bathroom floor, a negative test trembling in my hands. My body wracked with sobs.

“I’m broken,” I whispered. “Why won’t my body work? What’s wrong with me?”

Jacob knelt beside me, pulling me into his arms. “Shh, amore. Don’t say that,” he murmured into my hair. “This isn’t your fault. Maybe… maybe we’re just not meant to take that road. But we’ll find another way. I promise. I love you more than anything. Baby or no baby.”

I had believed him. I had believed every word.

And then another…

Another time, after a failed IVF cycle, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, numb. Jacob brushed his fingers down my arm, voice low and soothing.

“Look at me,” he said softly, tilting my chin. “Maurice, you’re everything. You hear me? Don’t let this consume you. You’re my heart. And I’ll protect you—even from yourself if I have to.”

That last sentence stung now. At the time, I thought it was love.

Now, I knew it was control.

I walked out of the house without a coat, shaking, barely feeling the cold night air. At the street corner, I pulled out my phone with trembling fingers.

“Hello?” the receptionist answered.

“I need an appointment,” I said, my voice cold.

“For what service, ma’am?”

I took a breath. “Abortion.”

“Ma’am, how far along are you?”

“It’s not me,” I said. “It’s the surrogate,” I said. “But I don’t want this baby anymore. Cancel everything.

There was silence. “Ma’am… Are you really sure?”

“Y-yes…”

I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care how much I had spent decorating that nursery. I didn’t care how many weeks were left. If Jacob thought he could build a family on lies, he was about to learn what it felt like to lose everything.

I ended the call and shoved it to my purse but then—

“Maurice!”

I turned.

Jacob was storming toward me, face red with anger.

“You really called the hospital?” he shouted. “You tried to cancel the baby?”

I didn’t move. “I know what you did, Jacob,” I said, my voice low. “You lied to me. You changed my medicine. You made me believe I couldn’t have children.”

He didn’t even look sorry. He just stared at me.

“I did it for you,” he said. “You’re too weak to carry a baby. You would have died, Maurice. I couldn’t risk losing you.”

“You didn’t even let me choose.”

“I protected you,” he said. “You don’t see it now, but I saved you. Stop being dramatic.” He stepped closer. “And now, you want to kill the baby? Our baby?” he asked. “What happened to your faith, Maurice? You always said children are blessings. You believe in God. How can you do this?”

I couldn’t answer.

“Where’s your heart?” he said. “You’re not that kind of person.”

I looked at him, my lips trembling. My chest felt tight.

“I… I’m sorry,” I whispered.

His arms came around me. His voice softened like nothing happened.

“I know,” he said gently. “You were upset. But it’s okay now. I’ll handle everything.”

I said nothing.

And just like that… the lies continued.

His arms were around me, his lips near my ear, murmuring comfort laced with control. I stood frozen in that false warmth, heart thudding.

Then—

Click.

The front door opened.

Valentina stepped in, heels clicking on the marble, curls bouncing. She wore my silk dress that hugged her pregnant belly.

I stiffened. “What is she doing here?”

Jacob let go.

Valentina smiled, slow and syrupy. “Oh,” she said sweetly, “didn’t Jacob tell you? This is where I’m going to live now.”

My stomach dropped. She walked past me like I was furniture.

“To be honest,” she added with a shrug, “this house was always too big for just one woman.”

I turned to Jacob. “Tell me she’s lying.”

He didn’t answer.

That silence was louder than a scream.

I didn’t protest when Jacob said Valentina was moving in.

“She’s eight months pregnant,” he said, like I needed reminding. “She’s carrying our child. It’s safer if she’s here. We can monitor her, make sure everything’s okay.”

Right. We. As if I had a say anymore.

She had no family close by, and she’d be more comfortable here, in the mansion. That was his excuse.

I just nodded.

What else was I supposed to do? Say no and look heartless? It’s not like I could tell people the real reason. Oh, hi, my husband emotionally manipulated me for a decade and I just found out he secretly sabotaged my fertility—oh, and by the way, I’m pretty sure he’s cheating on me with the surrogate.

No. I stayed quiet.

***

The first few days, I kept my distance. She spent most of her time in the sunroom, reading baby books, sipping herbal tea, humming softly to herself. Jacob had a room set up for her on the second floor, just across from ours.

Too close.

I told myself I was being paranoid. Emotional. Hormonal, even though I wasn’t the one carrying the baby. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. That Valentina wasn’t just here for the baby.

That Jacob had brought her here for himself.

And he was so attentive to her.

He rubbed her feet in the evenings while they watched TV together—on the couch I picked out. He brought her pillows and blankets when she napped. He asked what she was craving and made me cook it. When she said her back hurt, he looked at me and said, “Run her a bath, will you? Use the lavender salts.”

I became a ghost in my own house. A servant.

“Maurice, can you warm her milk before bed?”

“Maurice, Valentina’s hungry again. Can you whip up that soup she likes?”

“Maurice, go pick up her prenatal vitamins—no, not the generic ones, she needs the special imported kind.”

I did it all.

Because every time I hesitated, he’d look at me like I was the problem. Like I was the selfish one. The unstable one.

It felt like I was living with a king and his queen—and I was just the maid, watching from the shadows as they played house with my life.

And the worst part?

He didn’t even try to hide it.

And then I found the photo.

I was going through the drawers in Jacob’s office, looking for a pen of all things, when I saw it tucked between some old receipts and paperwork. A small photo, a little bent at the edges, but unmistakable.

Jacob and Valentina.

Together. Younger. Smiling. His arm slung around her shoulders like it belonged there.

I stared at it for a long time, my stomach churning.

When I confronted him that night, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry.

I just held up the photo and asked, “How long?”

He didn’t flinch. Just sighed and leaned against the dresser, arms crossed like this was mildly inconvenient. “It was a long time ago. An old fling. Nothing serious.”

“I thought she was your cousin's friend.”

“So? She’s just the surrogate, now. That’s all it is. You’re reading into things again.”

Again. Like I was some irrational creature who always made drama out of nothing.

I wanted to throw the photo at him. Instead, I turned and walked out.

***

That night, I couldn’t sleep.

The bed was cold. Jacob never came in. He said he had an “important meeting” with international clients. “Don’t wait up,” he told me. “It’s for the business.”

I believed him. Like I always did. Like a stupid wife who still trusted her lying husband.

But time passed. Hours. Midnight came and went.

The house was too quiet. I couldn’t breathe. I needed fresh air.

I got out of bed and walked toward the balcony.

Then I saw it—Valentina’s door. It was open just a little.

Just enough for me to look inside.

And what I saw made my heart stop.

Jacob.

Naked.

Behind Valentina.

Having sex with her while she was on her hands and knees. Her pregnant belly full and round.

And he wasn’t quiet.

“Yes, fuck me harder, Jacob,” Valentina moaned. “I love how wild you get with me.”

He grabbed her hips and pulled her back harder with every thrust.

“This pussy is perfect,” he said. “You were made for me, Valentina.”

She looked back and smiled. “I’m eight months pregnant with your baby, and I still want you every night. Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”

He slapped her ass. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine.”

“And your wife?” she laughed. “That little fool sleeping down the hall?”

He laughed too. “She’s nothing. Just a name. You’re the one I love. You’re the one I fuck.”

“Say it again,” Valentina begged.

“I love you, Valentina,” Jacob said. His voice deep and rough. “I fucking love you. I’ve been with you for three years—while married to her.”

I stood there frozen.

I wanted to scream. To throw the door open. To break everything.

But I couldn’t move.

I just stood there. Watching the man I gave my life to… betray me like it meant nothing.

And Valentina didn’t even care.

She moaned louder. “You’re not going back to her. Not after this. Not when I’m so wet for you. I own you now.”

“You do,” Jacob gasped. “And I’ll keep fucking you until you can’t take anyone else.”

He said it between every thrust like a hammer to my chest.

My stomach twisted. My throat burned. Because suddenly, everything clicked.

Those late-night “emergencies.”

The endless “business trips abroad.”

The long, quiet calls that ended the moment I entered the room.

The expansion project that took him “a year to oversee overseas.”

three years.

Out of the four we were married… he was with her.

I wasn’t his wife.

I was a cover. A placeholder. A lie he fed for the sake of appearances, while he built a life—with her.

That night, I didn’t scream. I didn’t throw anything. I didn’t storm into Valentina’s room or rip the sheets off the bed or pour bleach over the clothes Jacob left in our closet.

I went back to my room. Quietly. Like a ghost returning to her grave.

I shut the door behind me and collapsed onto the floor.

The sobs didn’t come right away. I was too numb for that. I just sat there, staring at the wall. Hearing their voices echo in my head. “You’re mine.” “She’s nothing.” “three years.”

three years.

They had been together longer than most people stay married. And I had been sleeping beside him, making him breakfast, praying for a baby—with my whole heart—while he gave everything I wanted to someone else.

Eventually, I reached for my phone.

There was only one person I could trust. One person who wouldn’t feed me lies.

I dialed.

“Maurice?” Dr. Elira’s voice was groggy. I must’ve woken her. “What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

I swallowed hard. “I need your help.”

“What happened?”

“I need a DNA test run on the surrogate. Quietly. And fast. Please… can you do that?”

There was a pause. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I said. “But I need to know the truth before I fall apart.”

Elira didn’t ask questions. She just said, “I’ll make some calls.”

The next morning, she called back.

“I pulled Valentina’s file.”

I was in the garden when I answered, pretending to water the roses. Jacob was inside, having breakfast with her.

“What did you find?” I asked, heart pounding.

Elira’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Maurice… there’s no IVF record. No egg retrieval. No implantation. No surrogate contract signed under your name. Nothing.”

I gripped the edge of the stone bench. “What does that mean?”

“She was never your surrogate, G,” she said gently. “She’s not carrying your baby. The egg isn’t yours.”

I didn’t speak.

“She and Jacob… they conceived naturally.”

Everything stopped.

The breeze. The birds. The pulse in my wrist.

“Maurice?” she asked again. “Are you—”

I hung up. I couldn’t breathe.

I had nothing left.

I didn’t wait for him to come to me.

That night, after Valentina went upstairs—after he kissed her cheek and rubbed her belly and called her “his queen”—I met him in his office.

He looked surprised. “You’re still up?”

I shut the door behind me. “I spoke to Elira.”

His eyes darkened.

“She checked Valentina’s medical files.”

Silence.

“No embryo transfer. No hormone protocols. No signed papers. Nothing.”

He sighed, slow. “So?”

“So you lied.”

“I protected you.”

“No,” I said, voice rising. “You used me. You made me think SHE WAS CARRYING MY CHILD!”

He didn’t blink. “I needed a strong Ricci heir. Your body couldn’t deliver. Hers could.”

There it was.

Just like that. Cold. Unapologetic.

“Do you even hear yourself?”

“I did what I had to do.”

“You stole four years from me. You made me think I was broken. That I was failing you.”

His jaw tightened. “You were never strong enough to be a mother.”

I slapped him.

The sound echoed in the room. But he didn’t react.

“I gave you everything,” I whispered. “My love. My loyalty. My body. My soul. And you… you gave me lies.”

“You have a roof over your head,” he said. “A name. You’re a Ricci. That should be enough.”

“It’s not.”

He stepped forward. “You’re upset. I get it. But let’s not ruin everything now. The baby’s almost here. Let’s just—”

I stepped back.

“No more,” I said. “No more pretending. I want out.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Out?”

“I want a divorce.”

He laughed once, low and dangerous. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“You can’t stop me.”

“Oh, I can,” he said. “And I will. For your safety, of course.”

And just like that, my house became a cage.

Guards at the gate. My phone monitored. My calls traced. I wasn’t allowed to drive. My credit cards froze. He told the staff I was having a mental episode.

“Just until she’s better,” he told them. “She’s under a lot of stress.”

And every night, he came into my room, acting like nothing happened. Like we were still husband and wife.

But I didn’t speak. I didn’t look at him.

I was already gone.

Only my body remained.

But my mind? My heart?

They were planning an escape.

And I swore to myself…

If he thought I was broken before—he hadn’t seen anything yet.

There had been a hollow sort of ache that no amount of sleep could fix. I woke up with it lodged in my chest like a stone—cold, unmoving, cruel. The bed had been colder too. Jacob hadn’t touched that room in days. I didn’t blame him. He was probably too busy comforting Valentina and her precious trophy of a pregnancy.

Every corner of that house used to hold pieces of me. Now it felt like I was trespassing in a museum of my own life. The staff—once loyal, once warm—had begun giving me cautious glances, like I might shatter at any moment. One of them even had the audacity to call her "Mrs. Ricci" the day before.

I hadn’t corrected it. What was the point?

Valentina walked those halls like she owned the ground they were built on. She floated in my silk robes, sipped my imported tea, and smirked with every pass like she’d already won.

And maybe she had.

I found her in the kitchen that morning, lounging like a cat in the sunniest spot of the window. She wore one of my sweaters—tight over her bump—and sipped my imported tea like it had always belonged to her.

She didn’t even blink when I walked in. Just glanced up, smirked, and said,

“Did you enjoy the show the other night?”

My heart stuttered. “What?”

She tilted her head, all faux innocence. “Me and Jacob. Upstairs. The sounds. The headboard. Come on, Maurice. You were watching, weren’t you? Pathetic.”

I couldn’t breathe.