Chapter 1

At six months pregnant, I got two pieces of news.

The first: my baby was perfectly healthy.

The second: the test report confirmed I could never have children.

I was utterly baffled—until I overheard my husband, Ryan Stone, and my cousin, Emily Lane, talking in the kitchen.

"You're so clever, Emily," he said. "Swapping the eggs while she was under anesthesia for the IVF procedure."

"And look how happy she is now," she replied. "Picking out baby clothes every day."

Steam from the bowl of chicken soup I was carrying clouded the chilly air, blurring my sight.

I stood frozen, my hands trembling, the doctor's damning words from that morning echoing relentlessly in my mind.

"This is the test report from six months ago. You forgot to pick it up back then," the doctor said.

"It's likely a result of your long-term contraceptive use. Your egg quality is severely compromised. Even with IVF, the chances of a successful pregnancy are virtually nonexistent."

I pressed him, my voice barely a whisper, "Are you absolutely certain? There must be some chance!"

His response was gentle but final. "The probability is almost zero."

I convinced myself that I was that one-in-a-million exception.

But now, that fragile hope had been shattered into a million pieces.

Their laughter, sharp and mocking, sliced through the air from the living room.

Ryan's voice was thick with contempt. "What a fool. We've played her perfectly. She doesn't have a clue this isn't even her baby."

"It's only because you love me, Ryan," Emily purred. "You know I can't handle the pain or the thought of ruining my figure. So she gets to be our incubator and deal with all the hard parts."

"You're nothing like her," Ryan said. "You're vibrant and clever. She's... functional. A vessel, at best."

A vessel? An incubator? Was that all I was to them—a disposable surrogate?

My hand, still clutching the soup bowl, went cold.

"I have to admit, I was nervous she'd catch on at first," Ryan said with a chuckle. "She was so meticulous with every injection, logging her medication every single day."

"Oh, relax. She's completely clueless," Emily said, her voice dripping with disdain. "Have you seen her lately? She's always smiling to herself, constantly touching her stomach and going on about nursery themes."

My gaze dropped to the gentle swell of my abdomen. Every morning, I'd whisper good morning to him. Every night, I'd read him a story, my heart swelling with love for the little life I carried.

So, in their cruel calculus, I was just a deluded fool.

"Once the baby is here..." Ryan's voice dropped to a tender murmur, "I'll make sure you get everything you deserve. Starting with making you my wife."

"And what about her?" Emily asked.

"I'll divorce her, of course," Ryan replied smoothly. "I've already pre-signed the papers."

Another peal of shared laughter spilled from the living room.

Standing there, just outside their line of sight, I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice.

I set the soup down on a side table. With trembling fingers, I pulled out my phone, the screen lighting up to reveal the hospital's appointment portal.

After a long moment, my finger hovered and then tapped the confirm button.

The words glared back at me from the screen: Termination of Pregnancy. Tomorrow, 9:00 AM. Dr. Richard Carter, OB/GYN.

That night, I lay in the darkness, wide awake. Sleep never came.

The pallid moonlight streamed through the window, glinting on the tear tracks staining my cheeks.

Ryan shifted in his sleep, his hand coming to rest on my belly in that familiar gesture he'd adopted since the pregnancy began.

I fought back a wave of nausea, waiting until his breathing deepened into the steady rhythm of sleep before I carefully lifted his hand and placed it back on his own side of the bed.

I slipped out of bed and into his study. There, I found them: the divorce papers, already bearing his bold, slashing signature. I took the documents and hid them away.

The next morning, before he woke, I left for the hospital alone.

"We're administering the anesthesia now. Just try to breathe deeply," the nurse said, her voice soft.

I lay on the cold, sterile table, silent tears streaming from the corners of my eyes.

My mind drifted back to six months ago, to a different operating table, where I had lain filled with so much hope and anticipation for the egg retrieval.

How achingly naive I had been, enduring every injection, every twinge of pain with a willing heart—all for a future that was nothing but a lie.