I always knew that James’s family thrived on drama, but I never imagined I’d find myself at the center of one of their most twisted tales.

It all began with a so-called “family meeting” at Diane’s house—his mother’s. I rolled my eyes as we drove over.

“What is it this time?” I asked, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “Did your mom misplace her china again and decide I cursed it?”

James didn’t laugh. He kept his eyes fixed on the road. “It’s important, Jess. Just… keep an open mind.”

That should have been my first warning.

When we arrived, Diane greeted me with her usual stiff hug, while James’s younger brother, Matt, fidgeted in an armchair like a kid about to ask for bail money.

“Jessica,” Diane began, her tone overly sweet. “We have something very special to ask you.”

I glanced at James. He looked guilty. I could already feel the trap being set.

Matt cleared his throat. “I’m engaged.”

I blinked. “Oh. Congratulations! When do we get to meet her?”

Matt and Diane exchanged a look.

“She’s a wildlife photographer,” he said. “In Ethiopia. Signal’s bad.”

Right.

“And she can’t carry children,” Diane added. “Health issues. Which brings us to… you.”

The words hit me like a punch.

“You want me to be a surrogate?”

James squeezed my hand. “It would mean the world to Matt. And the compensation would really help us. College funds. Kitchen renovations. You’ve always wanted—”

“But I’ve never met her. Shouldn’t she be the one asking me?”

“She’s all in,” Matt interjected. “The embryos are frozen. We just need someone we trust.”

Every fiber of my being screamed no. But I was surrounded by faces that were counting on me.

So I nodded.

“I’ll do it.”

And just like that, my life was no longer my own.

The pregnancy was brutal. Morning sickness, swollen feet, and sleepless nights. Matt visited often to check on me, but his fiancée? She ghosted. Not a single call, not even a letter.

“Has she even tried to contact me?” I asked James one night.

“She’s in the mountains,” he said. “Let it go, Jess. Stress is bad for the baby.”

Right. The baby. Not me.

By the third trimester, my unease morphed into suspicion.

When I pressed Matt again, he gave me some vague excuse about a rare bird she had to photograph in Nechisar.

It all felt too convenient.

Then came labor. Pain. Panic. Pushing.

And James leaving the room with a buzzing phone, saying, “She’s here.”

I thought I misheard him.

But when he returned—with her—I knew I hadn’t.

Rachel. His ex. His first love. The name I had banned from our home after catching him stalking her online six years ago.

She looked thrilled. “Jessica! Thank you! You made our dream come true!”

My dream shattered in real-time.

I turned to James. “You knew. And you didn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t relevant,” he said flatly.

My world cracked.

“You manipulated me into carrying your ex’s baby.”

Diane chimed in, trying to spin it into a compliment.

“You were just the perfect candidate. Two easy pregnancies, great health. And Rachel wanted to keep her figure…”

I exploded. “I’m not a broodmare!”

Rachel stammered, “I didn’t mean—”

“Silence.”

Contractions hit again, but my rage fueled me.

Once we were alone, I turned to James.

“We’re done.”

He scoffed. “Don’t be dramatic.”

But I was done being anything but decisive.

“I’m divorcing you. And I’m taking my share. House. Retirement. Custody. All of it.”

James paled.

When the baby arrived, I held them for a heartbeat—just long enough to feel the final thread of obligation snap—then handed them back.

“This child isn’t mine to keep.”

Within a week, I met with a lawyer.

I filed for divorce, secured full custody of my kids, and made James feel every ounce of betrayal he had poured into me.

He begged. He wept. He sent roses and voicemails.

But I didn’t flinch.

“This wasn’t a mistake,” I told him. “It was a choice. And now I’m making mine.”

Three months later, I signed the final papers. My lawyer smiled.

“You won.”

I smiled back.

“I didn’t win. I just stopped losing.”

Outside, the crisp air kissed my face. My phone buzzed—a message from James.

“Rachel had the baby christened yesterday. They want you to know they’re grateful.”

Delete.

Step.

Freedom.