I always thought that having a baby would bring my husband and me closer, that we would finally have the happy family we had dreamed of. But I never imagined that the biggest threat to our relationship wouldn’t be from within—it would be from his mother.

Jessica, my mother-in-law, had always been controlling, and unfortunately, my husband, Bill, let her dictate everything. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. Bill and I had been trying for years, and now, our family was finally growing.

Jessica had been eagerly waiting for this baby too, but not for the reasons I had hoped. She had never liked me, and she never hid it. From the very beginning, she made it clear that she didn’t think I was good enough for her son.

“Bill deserves someone better,” she had told him.

I had hoped that when I got pregnant, things would change, that maybe she would finally accept me. But instead, she became even more involved in our lives. She inserted herself into every aspect of my pregnancy, making sure she was always present.

“You need me to come with you,” she would insist at every doctor’s appointment. “I know what’s best.”

Throughout my pregnancy, I suffered from constant nausea, barely able to keep food down. But Jessica didn’t care. She continued to interfere, and every time I asked Bill to set boundaries, he refused.

One day, we went to our ultrasound appointment to find out our baby’s gender. When we arrived, I was shocked to see Jessica already sitting in the waiting room.

“How did she know?” I whispered to Bill.

“I told her,” he admitted.

I felt my stomach drop. I had asked him not to, but he never listened.

When the doctor revealed that we were having a girl, I was overjoyed. We had dreamed of this—a beautiful little girl to love and cherish. But before we could even share the news ourselves, Jessica sneered, “You couldn’t even give my son a boy. He needed an heir.”

My body tensed with anger. “An heir to what? His video game collection?” I snapped. “And for your information, the father determines the baby’s gender, not the mother.”

“That’s a lie. Your body is the problem. You were never right for my son.”

When we got into the car, I turned to Bill. “How did she find out about the appointment?”

“I told her,” he said again.

“I asked you not to!” I cried.

“She’s the grandmother,” he muttered.

“And I’m your wife!” I shot back. “I’m carrying our daughter! Don’t you care how I feel?”

“Just ignore her,” he said dismissively.

When I gave birth, everything happened so fast. The doctors rushed my daughter away the moment she was born.

“Please,” I begged weakly. “Give her to me.”

“You’re losing too much blood!” a doctor shouted. The world spun, and then—nothing.

When I woke up, exhaustion and confusion clouded my mind. Before I could process anything, the door burst open, and Jessica stormed in, her face twisted in anger.

“You didn’t even tell me you were in labor!” she snapped.

Bill sighed. “It happened too fast.”

“That’s no excuse!” she hissed before turning her attention to my daughter.

“What a beautiful girl,” she cooed.

“She needs to be fed,” a nurse said firmly.

Jessica barely acknowledged her. “Then give her formula.”

“I’m going to breastfeed her,” I said, my voice shaking.

She was mine. My beautiful little girl. Nothing would take her away from me.

Two weeks passed, and Jessica never stopped coming over uninvited. One afternoon, she barged in, holding an envelope.

“Proof,” she declared.

“Proof of what?” Bill asked, confused.

“That Carol isn’t faithful,” she spat, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.

“What?! What did you do?” I screamed, my heart pounding.

Jessica had gone too far.

I grabbed Eliza’s clothes, my hands trembling. Silent sobs wracked my body as I packed, barely able to comprehend what was happening.

Days later, my mother took us in, holding me as I cried. I knew what I had to do.

A few days later, I handed Bill an envelope.

“This is the real DNA test,” I said quietly.

His hands shook as he opened it. “99.9%,” he whispered.

“Eliza is your daughter,” I told him firmly.

His face crumbled with regret. “Please… come back.”

I shook my head, stepping back.

“I’m filing for divorce. I want full custody.”