Seven months pregnant with twins, I was folding tiny onesies and dreaming of baby names when my phone buzzed with an unexpected message from Veronica, my husband’s boss. I assumed it was news of an accident at work, but what I saw made my heart stop—a photo of Eric, shirtless and smirking in an unfamiliar bed, accompanied by the caption, “It’s time you knew. He’s mine.”
In that instant, my world shattered. The twins kicked inside me as I struggled to process the betrayal. I tried calling Eric, but every attempt went unanswered. I sank onto the sofa, cradling my swollen belly, and promised my unborn children that no matter what happened, I would always protect them—even though I had once naively believed Eric would never abandon us.
That evening, when Eric came home, he wasn’t alone. Veronica entered with the air of someone who owned the place, dressed impeccably in designer clothes and exuding confidence. Standing in the living room, I demanded an explanation. Eric sighed and coldly declared, “I’m in love with Veronica, so I’m leaving you. Let’s be adults about this.” His words hit me like a physical blow, each one more painful than the last.
I could barely speak. “We’re having babies in two months,” I whispered, struggling to believe the words. But Veronica, with a calculating tilt of her head, scrutinized my belly and said, “Twins, huh? Or triplets? Either way, you’re too far along. I have a solution.” Her lips curled into a smile that sent chills down my spine. “I’ll buy you a house, cover all your expenses—but I want one of your babies.”
Her words froze me in place, speaking of my children as though they were mere commodities. Desperation surged within me, but then a plan began to form. With tears barely held back, I agreed to her terms—but on one condition: I would choose which baby she would get, after spending time with them to decide which one would have a better life in her care. They exchanged looks of disbelief, convinced they had already won.
I added one more demand: “You’ll buy me a house, not just rent one, because I need security. If you don’t agree, I’ll walk, and you’ll never see either of them again.” Eric scoffed, but Veronica eventually relented. “You’re pushy, but I’ll agree,” she said. And so, while they thought they had the upper hand, they had no idea what I had planned.
In the following months, I played their game of patience. Veronica bought me a three-bedroom house in a quiet neighborhood—a transaction they overlooked until the day we signed the papers. I kept them updated on every doctor’s appointment and even let Veronica feel my belly during visits, pretending to agonize over which baby to “choose.” It was all part of my final play.
Then, one Tuesday night, I went into labor. I texted Veronica when I left for the hospital, making sure the nurses knew I didn’t want her or Eric in the delivery room. Six grueling hours later, my two beautiful daughters arrived—perfect little girls with dark wisps of hair and sparkling eyes. I named them Lily and Emma, and as I cradled them, I knew exactly what had to happen next.
On the third day, I called Veronica. Within an hour, she and Eric showed up at my house, Veronica practically buzzing with anticipation as she asked, “So, which one is mine?” I took a deep breath, holding one baby in each arm, and said, “Neither.” Her smile froze. I stood, despite my aching body, and declared firmly, “I’m not giving you my child. Neither of them.”
Veronica snarled, threatening to kick me out of the house, but I calmly reminded her, “This house is in my name.” To her shock, I revealed that I had already signed the deed over to myself—while they were too busy celebrating their betrayal to notice. As she sputtered in disbelief, I delivered my final blow: “I’ve already posted everything on social media. I shared the texts, the photos, your sick deal—tagged your company, your investors, even your charity boards. Your behavior is public now.”
Veronica lunged for my phone, her face turning pale as Eric’s expression shifted from smug to horrified. In the aftermath, Eric lost his job as his company could no longer stand behind him, and Veronica’s reputation was ruined—she made front-page news for all the wrong reasons, and soon she was ostracized by every social and business circle she had once graced.
And me? I rocked my daughters to sleep each night in our new home, secure in the knowledge that I hadn’t just endured betrayal—I had triumphed. I had taken back control of my life and my future, proving that no one could ever turn my children into bargaining chips. I had won.