What do you do when love turns conditional? When the baby you carried in your womb as a surrogate is deemed ‘unwanted’? Abigail dealt with that heartbreak when her sister and her husband saw the baby she birthed for them and shrieked: ‘THIS ISN’T THE BABY WE EXPECTED. WE DON’T WANT IT.’
I’ve always believed that love makes a family. Growing up, Rachel wasn’t just my little sister. She was my shadow, my confidante, and my other half. We shared everything: clothes, secrets, dreams, and an unshakeable belief that we’d raise our children together someday. But fate had other plans for Rachel. Her first miscarriage shattered her.
A sad woman leaning on a table | Source: Midjourney
I held her through the night as she sobbed with grief. The second miscarriage dimmed the light in her eyes. By the third, something in Rachel changed. She stopped talking about babies, stopped visiting friends with children, and stopped coming to my boys’ birthday parties.
It hurt watching her slip away, piece by piece.
I remember the day everything changed. It was my son Tommy’s seventh birthday party, and my other boys — Jack (10), Michael (8), and little David (4) — were racing around the backyard in superhero costumes.
Rachel stood at the kitchen window, watching them with such longing eyes that it hurt to see.
A heartbroken woman standing near the kitchen window | Source: Midjourney
“They’re getting so big,” she whispered, pressing her hand against the glass. “I keep thinking about how our kids were supposed to grow up together. Six rounds of IVF, Abby. Six. The doctors said I can no longer—” She couldn’t finish the sentence.
That’s when her husband Jason stepped forward, his hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “We’ve been talking to specialists. They suggested surrogacy.” He glanced at me meaningfully. “They said a biological sister would be ideal.”
The kitchen fell silent except for the distant shrieks of my children playing outside. Rachel turned to me, hope and fear warring in her eyes. “Abby, would you…” she started, then stopped, gathering courage. “Would you consider carrying our baby? I know it’s asking the impossible, but you’re my only hope. My last chance at becoming a mother.”
A distressed woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
My husband Luke, who had been quietly loading the dishwasher, straightened up. “A surrogate? That’s a big decision. We should all discuss this properly.”
That night, after the boys were asleep, Luke and I lay in bed, talking in whispers. “Four boys is already a handful,” he said, stroking my hair. “Another pregnancy, the risks, the emotional toll —”
“But every time I look at our boys,” I replied, “I think about Rachel watching from the sidelines. She deserves this, Luke. She deserves to know the joy we feel.”
A woman lying on the bed | Source: Midjourney
The decision wasn’t easy, but watching Rachel and Jason’s faces light up when we said yes made every doubt worthwhile. “You’re saving us,” Rachel sobbed, clinging to me. “You’re giving us everything.”
The pregnancy brought my sister back to life. She came to every appointment, painted the nursery herself, and spent hours talking to my growing belly. My boys got into the spirit too, arguing over who would be the best cousin.
“I’ll teach the baby baseball,” Jack would declare, while Michael insisted on reading bedtime stories. Tommy promised to share his superhero collection, and little David simply patted my belly and said, “My buddy is inside.”
A pregnant woman holding tiny baby shoes | Source: Unsplash
The time for the baby’s birth arrived. The contractions came in waves, each one stronger than the last, and still no sign of Rachel or Jason.
Luke paced the room, phone pressed to his ear. “Still no answer,” he said, worry etching lines around his eyes. “This isn’t like them.”
“Something must be wrong,” I gasped between contractions. “Rachel wouldn’t miss this. She’s wanted it too much, for too long.”
An anxious man holding a phone in a hospital | Source: Midjourney
Hours passed in a blur of pain and worry. The doctor’s steady voice guided me through each push, Luke’s hand anchoring me to reality.
And then, cutting through the fog of exhaustion, came the cry — strong, defiant, and beautiful.
“Congratulations,” the doctor beamed. “You have a healthy baby girl!”
She was perfect with delicate dark curls, a rosebud mouth, and tiny fingers curled into fists. As I held her, counting her perfect fingers and toes, I felt the same rush of love I’d experienced with each of my boys.
A newborn baby | Source: Unsplash
“Your mommy’s going to be so happy, princess,” I whispered, kissing her forehead.
Two hours later, hurried footsteps in the hallway heralded Rachel and Jason’s arrival. The joy I expected to see on their faces was replaced by something else entirely. Something that made my heart stop.
Rachel’s eyes fixed on the baby, then darted to me, wide with horror. “The doctor just told us at the reception area. THIS ISN’T THE BABY WE EXPECTED,” she said, her voice shaking. “WE DON’T WANT IT.”
The words stung like poison. “What?” I whispered, instinctively pulling the baby closer. “Rachel, what are you saying?”
A woman pointing a finger | Source: Midjourney
“It’s a girl,” she said flatly as if those three words explained everything. “We wanted a boy. Jason needs a son.”
Jason stood rigid by the door, his face twisted with disappointment. “We assumed since you had four boys…” he paused, his jaw clenching. Without another word, he turned and walked out.
“Have you both lost your minds?” Luke’s voice trembled with fury. “This is your daughter. Your child. The one Abby carried for nine months. The one you’ve been dreaming of.”
“You don’t understand. Jason said he’d leave if I brought home a girl,” Rachel explained. “He said his family needs a son to carry on the name. He gave me a choice — him or…” She gestured helplessly at the baby.
A sad woman closing her eyes | Source: Midjourney
“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” I asked.
“You gave birth to four healthy boys, Abby. I didn’t think it was necessary to —”
“So you’d rather abandon your child?” The words ripped from my throat. “This innocent baby who’s done nothing wrong except be born female? What happened to my sister who used to say love makes a family?”
“We’ll find her a good home,” Rachel whispered, unable to meet my eyes. “A shelter maybe. Or someone who wants a girl.”
The baby stirred in my arms, her tiny hand wrapping around my finger. Rage and protectiveness surged through me. “GET OUT!” I yelled. “Get out until you remember what it means to be a mother. Until you remember who you are.”
An angry woman yelling | Source: Midjourney
“Abby, please!” Rachel reached out, but Luke stepped between us.
“You heard her. Leave. Think about what you’re doing. Think about who you’re becoming.”
The week that followed was a blur of emotions. My boys came to meet their cousin, their eyes beaming with innocence.
Jack, my oldest, looked at the baby with fierce protectiveness. “She’s adorable,” he declared. “Mom, can we take her home?”
Grayscale shot of a newborn baby girl yawning | Source: Unsplash
At that moment, looking down at her perfect face, something fierce and unshakeable crystallized in my heart. I made my decision right then and there. If Rachel and Jason couldn’t see past their prejudices, I would adopt the baby myself.
This precious child deserved more than just shelter, more than being cast aside for something as meaningless as gender. She deserved a family who would cherish her, and if her own parents couldn’t do that, then I would.
I already had four beautiful boys, and my heart had plenty of room for one more.
A mother holding a baby | Source: Unsplash
Days passed. Then, one rainy evening, Rachel appeared at our door. She looked different. Smaller somehow, but also stronger. Her wedding ring was gone.
“I made the wrong choice,” she said, watching baby Kelly fast asleep in my arms. “I let his prejudice poison everything. I chose him that day at the hospital because I was scared of being alone… scared of failing as a single mother.”
Her fingers trembled as she reached out to touch Kelly’s cheek. “But I’ve been dying inside, every minute, every single day, knowing my daughter is out there and I abandoned her.”
An emotional woman looking at someone | Source: Midjourney
Tears streamed down her face. “I told Jason I want a divorce. He said I was choosing a mistake over our marriage. But looking at her now, she’s not a mistake. She’s perfect. She’s my daughter, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life making up for those first terrible hours.”
“It won’t be easy,” I warned, but Rachel’s eyes never left Kelly’s face.
“I know,” she whispered. “Will you help me? Will you teach me how to be the mother she deserves?”
Looking at my sister — broken but determined, scared but brave — I saw echoes of the girl who used to share all her dreams with me. “We’ll figure it out together,” I promised. “That’s what sisters do.”
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
The months that followed proved both challenging and beautiful.
Rachel moved into a small apartment nearby, throwing herself into motherhood with the same determination she’d once shown in her career. My boys became Kelly’s fierce protectors, four honorary big brothers who doted on their baby cousin with boundless enthusiasm.
Tommy taught her to throw a ball before she could walk. Michael read her stories every afternoon. Jack appointed himself her personal bodyguard at family gatherings, while little David simply followed her around with devoted admiration.
Watching Rachel with Kelly now, you’d never guess their rocky start. The way she lights up when Kelly calls her “Mama,” the fierce pride in her eyes at every milestone, the gentle patience as she braids Kelly’s dark curls. It’s like watching a flower bloom in the desert.
A woman feeding her little daughter | Source: Unsplash
Sometimes, at family gatherings, I catch Rachel watching her daughter with love and regret. “I can’t believe I almost threw this away,” she whispered to me once, as we watched Kelly chase her cousins around the yard. “I can’t believe I let someone else’s prejudice blind me to what really matters.”
“What matters,” I told her, “is that when it really counted, you chose love. You chose her.”
Kelly might not have been the baby my sister and her ex-husband had expected, but she became something even more precious: the daughter who taught us all that family isn’t about meeting expectations or fulfilling someone else’s dreams. It’s about opening your heart wide enough to let love surprise you, change you, and make you better than you ever thought you could be.
A baby girl sitting against the backdrop of Christmas decorations | Source: Unsplash
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
My Husband Created a New Schedule for Me to ‘Become a Better Wife’ — I Taught Him a Good Lesson in Response
I was stunned when my husband, Jake, handed me a schedule to help me “become a better wife.” But instead of blowing up, I played along. Little did Jake know, I was about to teach him a lesson that would make him rethink his newfound approach to marriage.
I’ve always prided myself on being the level-headed one in our marriage. Jake, bless his heart, could get swept up in things pretty easily, whether it was a new hobby, or some random YouTube video that promised to change his life in three easy steps.
A man on an armchair | Source: Pexels
But we were solid until Jake met Steve. Steve was the type of guy who thought being loudly opinionated made him right, the type that talks right over you when you try to correct him.
He was also a perpetually single guy (who could have guessed?), who graciously dispensed relationship advice to all his married colleagues, Jake included. Jake should’ve known better, but my darling husband was positively smitten with Steve’s confidence.
I didn’t think much of it until Jake started making some noxious comments.
A man looking to the side | Source: Pexels
“Steve says relationships work best when the wife takes charge of the household,” he’d say. Or “Steve thinks it’s important for women to look good for their husbands, no matter how long they’ve been married.”
I’d roll my eyes and reply with some sarcastic remark, but it was getting under my skin. Jake was changing. He’d arch his eyebrows if I ordered takeout instead of cooking, and sigh when I let the laundry pile up because, God forbid, I had my own full-time job.
And then it happened. One night, he came home with The List.
A serious woman | Source: Pexels
He sat me down at the kitchen table, unfolded a piece of paper, and slid it across to me.
“I’ve been thinking,” he started, his voice dripping with a condescending tone I hadn’t heard from him before. “You’re a great wife, Lisa. But there’s room for improvement.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Oh really?”
He nodded, oblivious to the danger zone he was entering. “Yeah. Steve helped me realize that our marriage could be even better if you, you know, stepped up a bit.”
A man | Source: Pexels
I stared at the paper in front of me. It was a schedule… and he’d written “Lisa’s Weekly Routine for Becoming a Better Wife” at the top in bold.
This guy had actually sat down and mapped out my entire week based on what Steve — a single guy with zero relationship experience — thought I should do to “improve” myself as a wife.
I was supposed to wake up at 5 a.m. every day to make Jake a gourmet breakfast. Then I’d hit the gym for an hour to “stay in shape.”
A woman glancing down | Source: Pexels
After that? A delightful lineup of chores: cleaning, laundry, ironing. And that was all before I left for work. I was supposed to cook a meal from scratch every evening and make fancy snacks for Jake and his friends when they came over to hang out at our place.
The whole thing was sexist and insulting on so many levels I didn’t even know where to start. I ended up staring at him, wondering if my husband had lost his mind.
“This will be great for you, and us,” he continued, oblivious.
A happy man | Source: Pexels
“Steve says it’s important to maintain structure, and I think you could benefit from —”
“I could benefit from what?” I interrupted, my voice dangerously calm. Jake blinked, caught off guard by the interruption, but he recovered quickly.
“Well, you know, from having some guidance and a schedule.”
I wanted to throw that paper in his face and ask him if he’d developed a death wish. Instead, I did something that surprised even me: I smiled.
A woman smiling | Source: Midjourney
“You’re right, Jake,” I said sweetly. “I’m so lucky that you made me this schedule. I’ll start tomorrow.”
The relief on his face was instant. I almost felt sorry for him as I got up and stuck the list on the fridge. Almost. He had no idea what was coming.
The next day, I couldn’t help but smirk as I studied the ridiculous schedule again. If Jake thought he could hand me a list of “improvements,” then he was about to find out just how much structure our life could really handle.
A woman working at a table | Source: Pexels
I pulled out my laptop, opened up a fresh document, and titled it, “Jake’s Plan for Becoming the Best Husband Ever.” He wanted a perfect wife? Fine. But there was a cost to perfection.
I began by listing all the things he had suggested for me, starting with the gym membership he was so keen on. It was laughable, really.
“$1,200 for a personal trainer.” I typed, barely containing my giggle.
A woman typing on a laptop | Source: Pexels
Next came the food. If Jake wanted to eat like a king, that wasn’t happening on our current grocery budget. Organic, non-GMO, free-range everything? That stuff didn’t come cheap.
“$700 per month for groceries,” I wrote. He’d probably need to chip in for a cooking class too. Those were pricey, but hey, perfection wasn’t free.
I leaned back in my chair, laughing to myself as I imagined Jake’s face when he saw this. But I wasn’t done. Oh no, the pièce de résistance was still to come.
A woman laughing | Source: Pexels
See, there was no way I could juggle all these expectations while holding down my job. If Jake wanted me to dedicate myself full-time to his absurd routine, then he’d have to compensate for the loss of my income.
I pulled up a calculator, estimating the value of my salary. Then, I added it to the list, complete with a little note: “$75,000 per year to replace Lisa’s salary since she will now be your full-time personal assistant, maid, and chef.”
My stomach hurt from laughing at this point.
A woman laughing hard | Source: Pexels
And just for good measure, I threw in a suggestion about him needing to expand the house. After all, if he was going to have his friends over regularly, they’d need a dedicated space that wouldn’t intrude on my newly organized, impossibly structured life.
“$50,000 to build a separate ‘man cave’ so Jake and his friends don’t disrupt Lisa’s schedule.”
By the time I was done, the list was a masterpiece. A financial and logistical nightmare, sure, but a masterpiece nonetheless. It wasn’t just a counterattack — it was a wake-up call.
A woman smiling at her laptop | Source: Pexels
I printed it out, set it neatly on the kitchen counter, and waited for Jake to come home. When he finally walked through the door that evening, he was in a good mood.
“Hey, babe,” he called out, dropping his keys on the counter. He spotted the paper almost immediately. “What’s this?”
I kept my face neutral, fighting the urge to laugh as I watched him pick it up. “Oh, it’s just a little list I put together for you,” I said sweetly, “to help you become the best husband ever.”
A grinning woman | Source: Pexels
Jake chuckled, thinking I was playing along with his little game. But as he scanned the first few lines, the grin started to fade. I could see the wheels turning in his head, the slow realization that this wasn’t the lighthearted joke he thought it was.
“Wait… what is all this?” He squinted at the numbers, his eyes widening as he saw the total costs. “$1,200 for a personal trainer? $700 a month for groceries? What the hell, Lisa?”
I leaned against the kitchen island, crossing my arms.
A kitchen island | Source: Pexels
“Well, you want me to wake up at 5 a.m., hit the gym, make gourmet breakfasts, clean the house, cook dinner, and host your friends. I figured we should budget for all of that, don’t you think?”
His face turned pale as he flipped through the pages. “$75,000 a year? You’re quitting your job?!”
I shrugged. “How else am I supposed to follow your plan? I can’t work and be the perfect wife, right?”
He stared at the paper, dumbfounded.
A dumbfounded man | Source: Pexels
The numbers, the absurdity of his own demands, it all hit him at once. His smugness evaporated, replaced by a dawning realization that he had seriously, seriously messed up.
“I… I didn’t mean…” Jake stammered, looking at me with wide eyes. “Lisa, I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I just thought —”
“You thought what? That I could ‘improve’ myself like some project?” My voice was calm, but the hurt behind it was real. “Jake, marriage isn’t about lists or routines. It’s about respect. And if you ever try to ‘fix’ me like this again, you’ll be paying a hell of a lot more than what’s on that paper.”
A serious woman | Source: Pexels
Silence hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Jake’s face softened, his shoulders slumping as he let out a deep sigh.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t realize how ridiculous it was. Steve made it sound sensible, but now I see it’s… it’s toxic. Oh God, I’ve been such a fool.”
I nodded, watching him carefully. “Yes, you have. Honestly, have you looked at Steve’s life? What makes you think he has the life experience to give you advice about marriage? Or anything else?”
The look on his face as my words hit home was priceless.
A couple having a heated discussion | Source: Midjourney
“You’re right. And he could never afford to live like this.” He slapped the list with the back of his hand. “He… he has no idea about the costs involved, or how demeaning this is. Oh, Lisa, I got carried away again, didn’t I?”
“Yes, but we’ll recover. Now, let’s tear that paper up and go back to being equals.”
He smiled weakly, the tension breaking just a little. “Yeah… let’s do that.”
We ripped up the list together, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like we were back on the same team.
Torn paper | Source: Pexels
Maybe this was what we needed, a reminder that marriage isn’t about one person being “better” than the other. It’s about being better together.
Here’s another story: Nora thought her marriage to Vincent was solid, but a routine kitchen cabinet check while he was away revealed a devastating secret. A seemingly ordinary jar held a truth so shocking that it led her to file for divorce on the spot.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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