He Said He Loved Me—Turns Out He Loved My Womb

My husband claimed to have a weak sperm count. We went through dozens of rounds of IVF before we finally had a child.

But when I called my husband, feeling miserable from morning sickness, he was impatient: "Don't bother me with such trivial things."

The call didn’t end; I heard a sugary voice on the other end: "Brian, what if someone finds out about this?"

"It's fine. That foolish woman still blissfully thinks it's her child."

"Lily, you were afraid of getting pregnant and feeling awful, so I swapped her egg with yours for the IVF."

"When the baby is born, I'll lie to her, telling her that the baby died, and then divorce her."

"Then our little family can live happily together."

"That woman is nothing but a surrogate tool."

Amid the teasing sounds, my heart grew colder.

The suffering I endured was caused by the person I loved the most.

I calmly dialed the hospital: "I'd like to schedule an appointment for an abortion."

...

After hanging up, I slid to the floor, unable to hold myself up anymore.

The discomfort from morning sickness was instantly replaced by a piercing chill.

Sitting on the bathroom floor, my phone slipped from my hand, my stomach churning intensely, but I couldn't throw up anymore.

I remembered the voice on the phone. It belonged to Lily Brown, my husband Brian Walker’s childhood sweetheart, who returned from abroad last month.

I had been wary initially, but when I first met her, she smiled sincerely and even hugged me, excited about my pregnancy.

I had silently mocked myself for being paranoid. Now it was clear that her happiness wasn’t about my pregnancy but about her own child growing healthily inside me.

Trembling, I stood up and washed my face.

The woman in the mirror had a pale complexion, dark circles under her eyes, and trembling lips from recent vomiting.

This was me, a pitiful woman used as a mere tool by the one she loved the most.

Returning to the living room, I collapsed onto the sofa, fingers unconsciously stroking my slightly swollen abdomen.

Three months ago, when the pregnancy test showed two red lines, Brian had been ecstatic, lifting me in his arms and spinning me around. That night, he took me to the most expensive restaurant for dinner.

Looking back now, his joy was never truly for me.

The memories felt like open wounds, bleeding right before my eyes.

A year ago, Brian had suddenly appeared outside my office building, holding roses and proposed to me.

We were college classmates. I had secretly loved him for four years, and after graduation, we went our separate ways.

When we met again, he was the CEO of a start-up company, while I was just an ordinary designer.

"Laura, you're the perfect mother for my child," he had said, kneeling on one knee.

I thought it was the awkward romance of a man in STEM and had teased him for his strange proposal words.

Now I understood that he chose me because of my uterus.

Even the wedding photo on the coffee table showed Brian holding me gently, smiling tenderly.

Beside the photo were the prenatal vitamins he had bought for me last week. Every day, he personally reminded me to take them with a glass of water.

What a considerate husband.

If only this care wasn't for someone else's child in my belly.

I grabbed the photo frame and hurled it against the wall. The sound of shattering glass temporarily brought me back to my senses.

I couldn't go on like this. I needed to think clearly.

Taking a deep breath, I checked my savings in the mobile banking app.

Fifteen thousand dollars, my private savings, enough for me to leave this place and start anew.

Sliding my fingers across the screen, I booked a ticket to Westwood for three days later.

I have a college roommate there who runs a guesthouse and has often invited me to visit.

Now, it would be my refuge.