After years of fertility struggles, I finally got pregnant. I expected my husband Aiden to rejoice—but instead, he asked if it was too late to “undo it.” Days later, his mother, Gloria, demanded the baby be a boy… or I’d be out of the family. Still clinging to hope, I tried to involve them—baby books, nursery paint, onesies. But Aiden grew colder. Then came the shocking visit to Gloria’s house.
She looked me in the eye and said if it was a girl, I was unwelcome. Aiden, shockingly, added that he was only staying if it was a girl. They didn’t care about me—just control.Then I overheard it all.Aiden had a vasectomy, thinking I couldn’t get pregnant. He’d been planning to leave me for a woman named Veronica, who’d even helped pay his mother’s medical bills. My pregnancy ruined their plans—and now, they were plotting to pressure me out. They never loved me.
But I wasn’t going to be their victim. I threw the most beautiful baby shower. And when the moment came for the gender reveal, I invited Veronica to cut the cake. She shocked the crowd with a short speech, siding with me. Inside the cake? No pink. No blue. Just red. And my wedding ring—a symbol of betrayal.
I picked it up and handed Aiden the divorce papers. “I don’t need anything from you. And now, you have no wife. No child. No legacy.” Then I placed a hand over my belly.“My daughter and I are more than enough.” And I walked out. Head high. Free.