When My Husband Turned Me Into His Mistress’s Surrogate

The car ride back from the clinic was silent except for the hum of the engine. I sat in the back seat, one hand resting on my belly, the other gripping the leather armrest. Eight months pregnant and blind—or at least, that's what everyone still believed. The baby kicked, a flutter against my ribs. I pressed my palm there and tried to feel grateful.

The chauffeur opened my door when we arrived. I took his offered arm, let him guide me up the front steps of the Hicks estate. Marble under my feet. Cold, even through my shoes. I knew this house by touch now—every corner, every doorway, every place where the floor changed texture.

"Mrs. Hicks, you're back," the housekeeper said from somewhere to my left. Her voice was flat. She never liked me.

"Yes. Thank you." I kept my voice soft. Grateful. The way Margaret Hicks expected.

I made my way down the hall toward the bedroom, trailing my fingers along the wall. My back ached. My feet were swollen. Kaden hadn't come to the appointment. Again. Too busy, he'd said over text. I'd sat alone in the waiting room, listening to other women talk to their husbands on the phone, making dinner plans, laughing.

I paused outside the study to catch my breath. The door was half-open. Voices drifted out.

"—coordinator confirmed it this morning." That was Kaden. His tone was different than the one he used with me. Warmer. Intimate.

"God, I can't believe we actually pulled it off." Aylin. My best friend. My only friend, really, since the accident. She laughed, low and delighted. "She has no idea."

I went very still.

"The transfer went perfectly," Kaden continued. "Dr. Brennan said the substitute sample took on the first attempt. Chloe will carry it to term, and she'll never suspect a thing."

Substitute sample.

My hand tightened on the wall.

"I still can't believe she agreed to IVF," Aylin said. "Made it so easy."

"She wanted to give me a child." Kaden's voice was flat now. Bored. "She would have agreed to anything."

The baby kicked again. Hard.

I couldn't breathe.

Substitute sample. Transfer. Aylin's voice, so pleased. Kaden's indifference.

I wasn't carrying my own child. I was carrying theirs.

They had swapped my embryo. Turned me into a surrogate without my knowledge. Without my consent. I pressed my free hand over my mouth to keep from making a sound.

"When she delivers, we'll take the baby and—" Aylin's voice faded as she moved deeper into the room.

I couldn't hear the rest. I didn't need to.

I stepped back. My heel caught the edge of something—the Oriental runner, maybe, or the threshold. I stumbled. Reached for the bannister. Missed.

The world tilted.

I fell.

The staircase was long. Marble steps, cold and unforgiving. My shoulder hit first, then my hip, then my head. I tumbled, weightless and heavy at once, every impact a bright burst of pain. I tried to grab the railing. My fingers scraped wood and slipped.

Then nothing.

---

When I opened my eyes, the light was blinding.

Not the familiar darkness I'd lived in for years. Light. White and sharp and real.

I blinked. The ceiling came into focus. Fluorescent panels. Water-stained tiles. A hospital room.

I could see.

I turned my head—slowly, because everything hurt—and saw Kaden sitting in a chair by the window. He was scrolling through his phone, his face illuminated by the blue glow. He looked annoyed.

Margaret Hicks stood near the door, arms crossed, her mouth a thin line. She was dressed in a cream Chanel suit, pearls at her throat. She checked her watch.

"How much longer is this going to take?" she said to someone I couldn't see. A nurse, maybe. "I have a luncheon at one."

Neither of them looked at me.

I closed my eyes before they could notice I'd opened them.

My hand moved to my belly. Flat. Empty.

The baby was gone.

I waited for the grief to come. It didn't. Just a cold, settled silence.

I kept my eyes closed and listened.

"The doctor said she's stable," Kaden said. He sounded bored. "She'll wake up soon."

"And the pregnancy?" Margaret's voice was sharp.

"Lost. They couldn't save it."

A pause.

"Well," Margaret said. "That's unfortunate. She's useless now."

Kaden didn't reply.

I lay very still. My mind was clear. Cold. I could see. For the first time in years, I could see.

And they didn't know.

A plan began to form.

That evening, after they'd left—Margaret to her luncheon, Kaden to God knows where—I asked the nurse to help me use my phone.

"I can't see the screen," I said softly. "Could you help me order something? I know how to navigate by touch, but I need someone to confirm the buttons."

She was kind. Sympathetic. She guided my finger to the right app, helped me search.

I ordered three miniature wireless surveillance cameras. Next-day delivery.

When she left, I opened my eyes in the empty room and stared at the ceiling.

I would go back to the Hicks estate. I would play blind.

And I would watch everything.