Another negative pregnancy test stared back at me, and I told my husband, Mark, “I can’t keep going, eight years of this.” He held me close, “Emma, we’re not done. You’ll be an incredible mom.” Mark’s optimism carried us through five IVFs and three losses. At 34, I was drained from treatments and his mom’s “miracle” teas. “Let’s take a break,” he said. “No pressure.” I rested against him, craving his faith that our life was complete. Mark was my constant—planning sweet date nights, brewing my coffee, and surviving my brother’s long-winded BBQs.
“Mother’s Day’s soon,” he grinned. “Let’s do something fun.” I sighed, “It’s too hard, seeing moms everywhere.” He nodded, “Your call.” When he left that morning for a “quick errand,” I expected muffins or tulips. Instead, he walked in with a baby—a tiny girl in a green blanket, dark curls peeking out. “She’s for you,” he said. “To be a mom.” My voice shook, “Mark, whose baby?” He brushed it off, “Her name’s Lily. She needs us.” She was beautiful, and I held her, heart racing, but questions swirled.
That night, I called my sister, Claire, while Mark fed Lily. “He just showed up with a baby?” she asked, stunned. “That’s not legal. Where’s the adoption proof?” I admitted, “He won’t say, just to trust him.” Claire, a nurse, said, “She needs a checkup. This is risky.” I pressed Mark later, “Tell me where she’s from.” He shut down, “I’ve got it covered.” I lay awake, Lily’s coos pulling at me, but fear grew. Days later, with Mark out, a call came. “I’m Lily’s mom, Jenna, 19,” a soft voice said. “Is she safe?” My chest tightened.
“Mark said you couldn’t have kids,” Jenna explained. “He gave me his hidden loft if I gave him Lily.” It was my uncle’s loft, inherited for a future art space. Jenna wasn’t ready to parent, and Mark promised I’d cherish Lily. “I do,” I cried. Mark had cheated, used my property, and brought a baby with no legal ties. When he got home, I held Lily, saying, “You had an affair.” He admitted it, “I did it for you. She didn’t want the baby.” I snapped, “You broke us.” My lawyer confirmed Mark’s actions were illegal. I called Jenna, offering a legal adoption—me alone. She agreed. I divorced Mark, kept the loft, and he paid all fees. He texts, saying he gave me Lily, but she and I chose each other—that’s motherhood. Share this tale—it might urge someone to reclaim their path.
