Wife of 18 Years Secretly Became a Surrogate for Her Sister; Husband Got Revenge
I married Lisa, believing she was my soulmate. For six years, we shared a steady, if unspectacular, happiness. We had three children, two of them twins, who were the center of our existence. She and I built our life in a suburban neighborhood with quiet streets and neatly trimmed lawns, and I remember those early days fondly.
The hush of the suburban nights made me feel safe, like we were in a bubble where nothing truly bad could happen. We’d settle in after work with laughter that carried through the house, the twins cooing in their cribs, our oldest child already trying to toddle around the living room. Often when I got home, Lisa’s smile lit the hallway. She’d greet me with a warm hug, a joking complaint about diapers or dinner, and everything seemed perfect. So perfect, I never imagined how quickly it could all unravel.
It started last year with a single choice Lisa made without asking my opinion. That choice wrecked our marriage so thoroughly that it left only betrayal, rage, and a driving need for revenge in me. If anyone had told me back then that Lisa’s loyalty could be so thin, I would have called them a liar. But the truth is, loyalty can vanish faster than you’d believe when a person decides their spouse no longer matters.
One night, she dropped the bomb. Her twin sister, Sarah, and Sarah’s husband, Kevin, wanted a baby. They had struggled for years, and Sarah’s doctor recommended surrogacy. Lisa planned to be that surrogate. But the blow that truly shattered me wasn’t the idea itself; it was the fact she never bothered to consult me beforehand. She had already begun the process behind my back.
I remember the moment clearly, as if etched in my mind. We were sitting together on the couch, well, physically together, but each lost in our own thoughts. A late night comedy show flickered on the screen, half-forgotten. Lisa glanced at me, phone in hand, and said almost casually:
“Grant, there’s something I’ve decided to do.”
The casual nature of her tone set off alarm bells in my head. Lisa only spoke like that when she had a big announcement, something she was determined to push through regardless of what I thought. My stomach knotted.
I muted the TV.
“What’s going on? You look serious.”
She smoothed a dark strand of hair behind her ear.
“I’m going to be Sarah’s surrogate.”
“What do you mean?”
I blinked. Lisa held my gaze, her voice steady.
“Sarah can’t have a baby. She’s been through multiple IVF cycles and nothing’s worked.”
“The doctors suggested a surrogate, and because Sarah and I have the same DNA, I’m practically the perfect candidate. I’ve already spoken to the clinic.”
She said it so matter-of-factly that for a second I thought she was joking. When I saw no hint of a smile, my heart rate spiked.
“You’ve already…”
I said, swallowing hard.
“Lisa, are you telling me you’re carrying Kevin’s child?”
She exhaled.
“Sarah’s child and Kevin’s child. It would be their embryo genetically. I’m just the carrier.”
I felt my jaw tighten.
“And when did you decide all this exactly, without telling me?”
She raised her chin.
“I knew you’d freak out. This was a decision I made because Sarah’s my twin and I can’t stand seeing her miserable.”
“Kevin and I talked about it extensively, and I’m certain it’s what I want to do.”
“Kevin and you talked about it extensively,”
I repeated, a hot coil of anger in my gut.
“That’s great. Meanwhile, I’m your husband and I found out last. Do you have any idea how I feel?”
Her eyes flashed with exasperation.
“Grant, I’m sorry, but it’s my body. I’m doing this with or without your permission.”
“I hoped you’d support me, and yes, I should have told you sooner, but I knew you’d try to stop me, and this is too important.”
I could barely speak for a moment, my throat so tight with fury.
“So that’s it, you’re telling me to accept a pregnancy that isn’t mine, to watch you carry another man’s child under our roof, and you think I’ll just smile and clap my hands?”
Lisa set her phone down, crossing her arms.
“You can call it what you want, but this is happening. Sarah and Kevin are counting on me, and if you really love me, you’ll respect that.”
An icy calm settled over me, more frightening than outright anger.
“Respect? You don’t show respect by blindsiding your husband with a choice that impacts our marriage.”
“You’re not just making decisions about your body, you’re making decisions about our family.”
She stood, fists clenched.
“Stop acting like you’re the victim. Sarah is family too, and I’m saving her. If you can’t see that, then maybe I’ve overestimated you all these years.”
That final statement sent me over the edge.
“Overestimated me, Lisa? If you go through with this, it’s going to tear us apart.”
She moved past me, shoulders rigid.
“Then maybe we’re not as strong as I believed.”
I stayed behind, seething, my heart pounding so hard I could hear the blood rushing in my ears. I tried to breathe through the anger, but it felt like a betrayal so profound I couldn’t name it. The quiet house pressed down on me, thick with the aftershock of her news. Although I told myself I should calm down, I already knew everything had changed.
The days that followed were tense. Lisa talked openly about doctor’s appointments, fertility meds, implantation schedules. She told me more, as if we were discussing what groceries to buy, not a life-altering surrogacy. I could barely listen without feeling sick. Each mention hammered home that she’d made a choice that shredded any notion of partnership we had.
Two evenings after she first told me, I came home to find a box from a fertility clinic in our fridge. Vials of medications, syringes, and instructions lay scattered on the kitchen table. Lisa was flipping through a thick packet of papers.
“What all this?”
I asked sharply, gesturing at the paraphernalia. She glanced at me.
“Hormone treatments. I need to start them so my body will be ready for the embryo transfer.”
“The clinic sent them earlier than expected.”
I stared at her in disbelief.
“You didn’t think this warranted a conversation?”
She shrugged.
“I already told you we’re past conversations. I’m moving forward.”
My voice came out low but tight.
“Ignoring my feelings in this? You don’t care that you’re pushing me away, do you?”
She rolled her eyes.
“Stop being melodramatic. It’s 9 months and then I hand the baby over to Sarah. It’s not like I’m replacing our children with another one. This is to help my sister.”
“You can rationalize it all you want,”
I muttered.
“But if you do this, I promise you, I’m not staying in this marriage.”
She looked up, gaze steely.
“Grant, you’re free to leave if your pride can’t handle my decision.”
My face burned.
“Pride? This has nothing to do with pride. It has everything to do with partnership. You completely blindsided me, talked about it with Kevin…”
“So what if I talk to Kevin?”
She demanded, her voice rising.
“He’s the father of the embryo, he needed to be part of the discussion.”
I let out a mirthless laugh.
“And I’m the husband you took vows with, or is that irrelevant now?”
She picked up the papers again, effectively dismissing me.
“We’re done here, Grant.”
I stood there, an ache in my chest. She wouldn’t even see the damage she was doing. My fingers twitched with the urge to rip the fertility papers from her hands and tear them apart, but I knew that it’d make me look like a madman. So I turned on my heel, left her to her new project, and tried to steady my breath.
That night, as I lay awake in bed, I silently decided if Lisa insisted on forging this path alone, then so be it. I’d file for divorce because no matter how I twisted it, I couldn’t stand to watch her belly grow with Kevin’s child.
When Lisa found out I had contacted a lawyer, she stormed into the living room where I was helping our oldest child with homework. Fury radiated off her.
“How dare you,”
she hissed, careful not to alarm our child who was busy coloring. I sat down the crayon, told my kid to stay put, and guided Lisa into the hallway.
“Lower your voice,”
I said.
“I don’t want the kids hearing our fights.”
She glared at me.
“So you thought it was acceptable to rush to a lawyer and start divorce proceedings?”
My chest burned.
“I told you what would happen if you went forward without me, and you did it anyway. I’m done being disregarded.”
She shook her head, tears in her eyes, but they were tears of anger.
“Grant, we can fix this. You just need to accept I’m doing this, then we move on.”
I held up a hand.
“No, you’re not hearing me. There is no fix. You went behind my back, used our finances, signed up for a surrogacy as though our marriage was secondary to your sister’s child.”
“Did you seriously expect me just to say, ‘Sure, honey, that’s great’?”
Her lips quivered.
“I didn’t think it had come to divorce. God, you’re so cold.”
I barked a short laugh.
“Maybe I am now, but I wasn’t cold when you made that decision. That’s what turned me this way.”
She opened her mouth to retort, then slammed it shut. If she wanted to throw more accusations, she seemed too furious to formulate them. Finally, she spun on her heel and marched upstairs. I just stood there, heart pounding, wishing I could pretend this was all a nightmare.
In our state, there’s a mandatory one-year separation before a divorce is finalized. Lisa knew that, and in that year, we’d be living under the same roof, at least for a while. She refused to move out, claiming she had nowhere else to go, that she needed bed rest at times, and that the kids deserved a stable house. I didn’t want to uproot my children either, so I tolerated her presence, although “tolerate” was a generous term. She occupied our guest room or sometimes the living room couch, and I took the master bedroom. We moved like strangers sharing space, barely speaking.
The kids picked up on it, of course, and asked why Mom and Dad no longer sat together at dinner. We tried to act civil in front of them, but tension seeped into every corner of the house.
Lisa’s twin sister Sarah showed up one weekend with Kevin in tow. I found them in the living room looking at baby strollers in a glossy catalog, as though they owned the place. Our kids were outside playing, so I had no reason to pretend courtesy. Kevin rose from my recliner when I walked in.
“Grant, hey,”
he said awkwardly.
“We were just, you know, planning for the baby.”
Lisa rubbed her belly, which had just begun to show.
“Kevin and Sarah want to make sure we’re prepared. I need certain things in the house to be comfortable.”
I stared at her.
“Why can’t Kevin buy all that for his own home since that’s where the baby will eventually live?”
Kevin let out an uneasy chuckle.
“Well, we thought it’d be good to have supplies here for while Lisa’s carrying.”
I cut him off.
“Don’t you dare talk about supplies in my house like it’s your personal baby lounge.”
Lisa’s cheeks flushed.
“You’re being unreasonable. Do you expect me to stand for hours in their place if I’m nauseated or if I need rest? I live here, Grant.”
I clenched my jaw.
“Yes, you do, but maybe Kevin and Sarah should show some respect for me and not treat this house like their baby planning HQ.”
Kevin glanced at Sarah, who stood behind the couch, arms folded. Sarah gave me a steely look.
“Grant, it’s not like we enjoy being here,”
she said.
“We’re just trying to make this as painless for Lisa as possible.”
My anger flared hot.
“Let me guess, you expect me to go along with it? Maybe rub Lisa’s feet, support her pregnancy cravings, all for a baby that’s not mine?”
Sarah threw up her hands.
“For God’s sake, we’re family! This shouldn’t be about mine or yours, it’s about helping each other.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“It stopped being about family when you two roped Lisa into this behind my back.”
Kevin let out an exasperated sigh.
“Look, man, I get this is awkward.”
“Awkward doesn’t cover it,”
I snapped.
“But if you’re so concerned about Lisa, then set up a comfortable space in your house. Buy every item from that catalog. Just don’t do it here. If you keep showing up unannounced, we’re going to have a serious problem.”
Lisa stood, indignation radiating from her.
“You can’t ban them from the house, this is my home too.”
I turned on her.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before deciding to share your pregnancy with them and not your husband.”
We stood there glaring until Sarah grabbed Kevin’s arm.
“Let’s go,”
she said, her voice shaking with anger.
“We don’t need this.”
They hustled out. Lisa whipped around, pointing a finger at me.
“You’re acting like a child! I hope you realize you’re alienating our children’s aunt and uncle.”
I shrugged.
“I’d rather alienate them than let them waltz in as if my marriage doesn’t matter.”
She stormed off, leaving me with the hot swirl of rage that had become a near constant presence in my gut.
The following months were a grim routine. Lisa’s belly expanded. She complained of morning sickness, backaches, constant fatigue. She expected me to care. She’d say things like:
“Grant, could you bring me some crackers from the kitchen?”
or:
“Could you get me a pillow for my back?”
I refused every single time. She’d hiss:
“What kind of heartless man are you? You can watch the mother of your children suffer like this and not lift a finger?”
I’d snap back:
“You’re Kevin’s surrogate, let him handle it. If he can’t, call Sarah. I have my own concerns, like raising our kids and keeping the house afloat.”
She’d stomp off, often in tears, ranting about my cruelty. But each tear she shed fell on the hardened shell of my heart. I reminded myself she’d shown no compassion for me when she decided to carry another man’s baby without so much as a consultation, so I offered her the same courtesy: none.
She tried to guilt trip me. Late one night she came to my door and said:
“I can’t sleep, my legs are cramping. Could you rub them like you did when I was pregnant with our twins?”
I stared at her from the doorway, her face a mixture of desperation and hope. Then I said flatly:
“No.”
and shut the door in her face.
My kids noticed the friction. Our oldest asked:
“Dad, why don’t you hug Mom anymore?”
I swallowed the bitter truth and said gently:
“Sometimes grown-ups don’t get along, but I love you and I’ll always be here.”
The innocence in my child’s eyes made me want to throttle Kevin and Sarah for putting us in this position, but mostly it made me resent Lisa for letting it happen.
As the months crept by, Lisa’s family inserted themselves into the fray. Her mother called me, voice dripping with condescension.
“Grant, I can’t believe how selfish you’re being. Lisa is doing a wonderful selfless act for her sister. How can you deny her your support?”
I said coldly:
“Maybe ask your daughter why she did it without telling me. I owe her no support. That baby isn’t mine.”
Her father tried intimidation.
“Young man,”
he growled over the phone.
“You’re heading down a very dark path if you don’t help Lisa. We’ll see to it you regret it.”
I smirked at the phone, though he couldn’t see me.
“That’s interesting, because I already regret trusting your daughter with my marriage. Good luck with your threats.”
They hung up on me. I had no doubt the entire extended family viewed me as a monster, but I also knew the court would see facts. Lisa was pregnant with someone else’s child, funded partially by our joint finances, without my consent. That would be on her.
One of the worst confrontations happened in the 7th month. Lisa, belly large and heavy, returned home one evening with grocery bags. She struggled to carry them, nearly dropping one on the porch.
“Grant, can you please help me? My back is killing me.”
she called out. I opened the door, arms folded.
“Ask Kevin or Sarah,”
I said.
“They’re the reason you’re pregnant.”
Her eyes glistened with tears, but I saw the flash of anger beneath.
“I just spent hours at the hospital dealing with some checkups. I’m exhausted. I’m still your wife, whether you like it or not.”
I snorted.
“Not for long, and certainly not in spirit. You made that clear.”
She let out a wail of frustration and turned to drag the bags inside on her own. A couple cans fell out, rolling on the porch, but I didn’t move. She ended up bruising her forearm trying to wrestle everything in at once. Breathless, she set the groceries on the kitchen table and glared at me.
“You can’t keep punishing me like this,”
she spat. I arched an eyebrow.
“I’m not punishing you. I’m just refusing to play the supportive husband role you threw away.”
She set a hand on her belly, tears streaming.
“When this baby’s born, you’ll wish you hadn’t been so callous.”
I laughed, a sound devoid of humor.
“Believe me, I won’t. Because you’ll be gone and this child will be out of our lives.”
She inhaled sharply, as if I’d struck her, then stormed off into the guest room, leaving me with a house that felt stiflingly silent despite the drama. I exhaled, wondering if I’d crossed a line. But whenever pity for her threatened my resolve, I remembered that she’d made a unilateral choice that spat in the face of our marriage. My anger held firm.
When Lisa went into labor unexpectedly around the 8th month, it was just past midnight. I heard moaning in the hallway, followed by frantic knocks on my bedroom door.
“Grant,”
she shouted, voice trembling in pain.
“My water broke! Oh God, the contractions are coming! Please help me!”
I opened the door to see her face contorted, hands braced on her enormous belly. Sweat matted her hair. For a split second, the memory of helping her through labor with our own children flickered through my mind, but then bitterness swept it aside.
“I’m not taking you to the hospital,”
I said coldly.
“That’s Kevin’s job.”
Her eyes went wide with disbelief.
“Kevin’s not answering. Sarah’s phone is going straight to voicemail. I need to get to the hospital now.”
I shrugged, stepping back.
“Call an ambulance.”
She gripped the door frame, another contraction ripping through her.
“Grant, please! You can’t just let me suffer here.”
I locked eyes with her.
“Watch me.”
She stumbled, tears pouring down her cheeks.
“You’re… you’re heartless.”
I gave a short nod.
“That’s what happens when you ignore your spouse’s feelings. Good luck with the baby. I’m going back to bed.”
She let out a sob as I closed the door. She fumbled in the hallway, presumably calling 911. Within 15 minutes, paramedics arrived. The lights from the ambulance flashed across my window. I could hear them whisking her away. For a fleeting instant, guilt gnawed at me, but I forced it down. She’d chosen to disregard me. Why should I rush to her side when the child in her womb wasn’t mine?
The next morning my phone blew up with calls from Lisa’s mother. Screaming voicemails accused me of abandoning Lisa during labor. I deleted them all without listening past the first few seconds. She wanted a baby for her sister, so let her rely on her sister’s family.
Lisa and the baby stayed in the hospital for several days. The newborn, a girl, was premature but stable. Sarah had health issues of her own, so Kevin was stretched thin, scurrying between two hospital rooms. I continued my life as usual, took the kids to school, went to work, cooked dinner. When Lisa’s mother phoned to say Lisa will be home in a couple of days, I simply said:
“That’s her choice.”
and hung up.
I was in the living room reading when Lisa finally returned. She was pale, exhausted, and carried the newborn in a portable car seat. She set the seat down, gave a long exhale, and sank onto the couch. The baby stirred, letting out a soft cry. I stared at that infant, a tiny, pink-fleshed reminder of the surrogacy that destroyed my marriage.
So I said, voice clipped:
“Why are you here with the baby? Shouldn’t it be with Sarah?”
Lisa closed her eyes.
“Sarah’s still in the hospital recovering from complications. Kevin’s overwhelmed. They asked me to keep the baby here for a few weeks.”
I scoffed.
“They asked, or you volunteered?”
She glared.
“Is there a difference? I can’t abandon her, she’s helpless.”
“You should have thought about that before you decided to be a surrogate,”
I said.
“But let’s be clear, I’m not lifting a finger. If you’re too tired to handle the crying, that’s your problem.”
She rubbed her forehead, a tear slipping down her cheek.
“Have you always been this cruel, or did I push you into it?”
she whispered, seeming more talking to herself than to me.
“That’s a question you can ask yourself at night when the baby’s screaming,”
I replied.
“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have real children to feed.”
She flinched as though I’d slapped her but said nothing while I walked away to start dinner.
For the next month, the nights were filled with the infant’s wails. Lisa would shuffle around half awake, trying to warm bottles. She’d come to me, circles under her eyes, and beg for help. Every time I refused.
“Please,”
she said one night, tears dripping onto the bottle in her hands.
“I need half an hour just to lie down. The baby’s been crying for hours.”
I held her gaze, unwavering.
“Go call Kevin or your mother.”
She let out a frustrated sob and turned away, the baby’s cries echoing in the hallway. I felt a flicker of remorse for the child; it had done nothing wrong. But this was Lisa’s doing, not mine. I wouldn’t let her off the hook.
Lisa’s mother and father visited often, wagging fingers in my face, calling me names: monster, coward, unfit husband. Sometimes Lisa’s father tried to corner me in the kitchen.
“Listen here,”
he’d say.
“You should be ashamed. Lisa is postpartum, she needs rest. You can’t just abandon her.”
I’d glare at him.
“She should have thought of that before ignoring my boundaries. Let Kevin handle the baby, let your family handle it. Not my baby, not my problem.”
He’d stomp away, cursing me under his breath. It was a constant chorus of condemnation, and I endured it with a grim satisfaction. Lisa’s family thought I was heartless, but so far the law was on my side.
The divorce process was slow, but it inched forward. My lawyer presented evidence that Lisa had dipped into our joint accounts to pay for certain surrogacy related expenses, sometimes forging my signature. Court documents spelled out the timeline: Lisa’s explicit deception, her disregard for my refusal, her funneling of marital funds. The judge took a particularly dim view of forgery. Meanwhile, Lisa’s lawyer tried to spin me as a cruel man who abandoned his pregnant wife, but because the baby wasn’t mine and she’d hidden her surrogacy plans, her argument held little weight.
Lisa’s twin sister and Kevin, ironically, were silent on the subject of finances, probably because they were relieved they weren’t on the hook if Lisa drained our accounts. They simply wanted the baby, but with Sarah’s ongoing medical issues and Kevin’s uncertain job situation, they couldn’t even take full custody right away. The baby’s presence in our house became a bizarre, tense-filled arrangement that everyone hated but had to endure.
By the time we reached the final hearing, Lisa had recovered physically but was frazzled caring for a baby that wasn’t hers to keep. She cornered me in the living room two weeks before the court date, the baby dozing in a bassinet.
“I need some financial help,”
she said bluntly. I looked up from my laptop.
“For what?”
She hesitated, then folded her arms.
“My doctor says I should be focusing on postpartum recovery. I shouldn’t have to find a job immediately.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“You’re not my responsibility anymore, Lisa.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I’m still the mother of your three children,”
she snapped.
“I’m not talking about money for the surrogacy. I mean money for me to live, to feed our kids when they’re with me, to pay for my share of the expenses.”
I closed my laptop slowly.
“When we’re divorced, I’ll pay child support for our children as required by law. I’m not giving you spousal support.”
Her eyes flashed.
“I deserve some financial security. I sacrificed my body, my comfort for your sister.”
I interrupted.
“Not for me, that’s the difference.”
Her voice trembled.
“You’re unbelievably cruel. You don’t care that I’m struggling with postpartum depression.”
I stared at her.
“I care about our children, not about the baby that’s biologically Kevin’s or your postpartum that you invited. You made this bed, Lisa, lie in it.”
She pressed her lips together, tears welling up.
“You’ll regret it,”
she said, her voice shaking with rage and sorrow.
I shook my head.
“You’ve said that before. The only regret here is that we’re in this mess at all.”
She swallowed, glancing at the baby.
“Grant, it hurts me to say this, but you’re not the man I remember.”
I gave a bleak laugh.
“Nor are you the woman I married. Life changes, Lisa.”
She marched away, leaving me with the quiet. The baby slept on, oblivious to the war zone around it.
The final week before the court date, Lisa decided to move out, taking the baby to her mother’s house until Sarah was healthy enough to assume custody. She packed in a hurry, boxes clattering, tears sliding down her cheeks as she folded her clothes. Our children, confused, asked if Mom was leaving for good. She tried to reassure them that she’d see them often, that she still loved them. They nodded, though sadness weighed on their little faces.
The day she left, she stood in the foyer, the baby carrier at her feet, a small suitcase in her hand. She looked at me, eyes rimmed red.
“One last time, Grant, I’m asking you not to do this. Don’t finalize the divorce. I’ll find a way to fix things, please.”
I felt a strange tug in my chest, but I let it pass.
“Fix things by turning back time, because that’s the only way. You can’t undo what you did.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
“I never imagined I’d lose you. I just wanted to help Sarah.”
I nodded, bitter.
“Well, you helped Sarah, and in the process, you torched our marriage. Goodbye, Lisa.”
She swallowed hard, picked up the baby carrier, and left. The door shutting behind her with a soft click that seemed to reverberate through the empty house. I closed my eyes, letting out a shaky breath. For the first time, I felt something akin to relief. We were nearly at the end.
At the final court date, Lisa sat at one table with her lawyer. I sat at another with mine. Kevin and Sarah were present in the gallery, wearing identical expressions of apprehension. The judge was a stern-faced woman who had reviewed all the documents. Lisa’s lawyer attempted a tearful speech about how Lisa was abandoned while pregnant and how I was emotionally abusive. My lawyer presented a careful timeline.
Lisa made the surrogacy decision without my consent. She spent marital funds on the procedure and forged my signature to do it. I had repeatedly communicated my refusal and set a boundary she ignored. When the judge spoke, her tone was clipped. She found Lisa’s actions to be in blatant disregard of our marital partnership. She recognized that the baby was not mine, so I had no financial or parental obligations regarding spousal support. She saw no reason I should pay, especially given Lisa’s misuse of funds.
The judge also awarded me primary custody of our three children. Lisa received visitation rights, provided she could prove a stable environment. Lastly, she was ordered to repay part of the misused marital funds. As the judge delivered her ruling, Lisa’s face crumpled. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking. Kevin and Sarah exchanged stricken looks. I felt my own heart thudding, but mostly I felt vindicated. My revenge was complete. I had walked away from the wife who betrayed me, and the law backed me.
We stepped into the hallway outside the courtroom. Lisa approached, eyes swollen.
“Grant,”
she whispered, voice trembling.
“I never wanted it to come to this. I’m sorry, I truly am. I made a mistake, but I never thought you’d cut me off like this.”
I gazed at her, remembering the nights I’d pleaded with her not to do it, her dismissive retorts, her arrogance.
“You decided to put Kevin and Sarah’s needs before ours, and you lied about it. That’s more than a mistake, it destroyed us.”
She let out a ragged breath.
“I just wish you could forgive me someday.”
My stare remained cold.
“You forged my signature. You refused to listen when I begged you not to do this. Forgiveness doesn’t come that cheap. Goodbye, Lisa.”
Sarah drifted closer, trying to place a hand on my arm.
“Grant, don’t you see she’s remorseful? She did it for me.”
I jerked my arm away.
“You got what you wanted, Sarah. That baby is yours now. You can deal with the fallout. You and Kevin can support Lisa if you think she deserves it. I’m done.”
They stood there speechless as I headed for the exit. The corridor felt brighter as I walked away, as if a crushing weight had been lifted.
In the weeks after the final decree, Lisa moved in with her mother, the baby still with her until Sarah fully recovered. Whenever I saw Lisa during custody exchanges of our three kids, she looked frail, regretful. She’d ask how the children were doing, and I’d answer politely but kept my distance. She’d cast forlorn glances at me as if expecting some sign of tenderness. I offered none.
Kevin and Sarah eventually took over raising their baby. Rumor had it they were strapped for cash. Kevin’s job had cut his hours, and Sarah’s hospital bills piled high. Lisa, financially drained, struggled to find a stable job. My kids, however, were doing much better once the tension left the house. We fell into a calm rhythm: school days, weekend outings, family movie nights. No more crying baby to wake everyone at midnight, no more silent warfare in the hallways.
Occasionally, Lisa texted me or emailed me, talking about regrets, about how she never foresaw Kevin’s unreliability or Sarah’s ongoing health issues. She mentioned that being a surrogate hadn’t truly helped anyone in the end; it had just created more chaos. I offered polite, minimal replies, only addressing our children’s schedules or needs.
One day my oldest child looked up at me while playing with Legos.
“Dad, do you still love Mom?”
I paused, kneeling beside them.
“I care about her because she’s your mother, but sometimes grown-ups change and they break trust.”
They seemed to accept it, returning to their little plastic bricks, the matter resolved in their mind. Kids can be so direct; it’s one reason I love them fiercely. There’s no pretense, no hidden agenda.
Months turned into a year, the divorce well behind me. I finally felt free. I kept the house, a stable job, and primary custody. Lisa drifted in and out of the children’s lives, never quite regaining her footing. Kevin and Sarah had their new baby, but from what I heard, it was no fairy tale. They had medical bills, arguments about finances, and little time to lend Lisa a hand. She had turned to her parents, who were willing to help only so much.
People sometimes asked why I didn’t help her after the birth; it was obvious she was overwhelmed. And I’d answer:
“She made a decision that excluded me and she faced the consequences.”
They’d often shake their heads, calling me merciless. Perhaps I was. But in a marriage, respect and honesty are vital. She showed neither.
In the end, my revenge wasn’t about violence or public humiliation; it was about letting her face every single ramification of her choice alone. I withdrew the support she had taken for granted and let her see how stark the world could be when she neglected her husband’s trust. The judge saw it my way, and so did life’s harsh reality.
If you ask me now whether I regret how merciless I was, I’ll say no. Lisa dealt the first blow by betraying me. I responded in kind by giving her exactly what she asked for: autonomy, no shared finances, no emotional support, no illusions that we’d stay married through a pregnancy I never consented to. And in the end, I got my freedom and my children, while she was left to grapple with the selfless act that shattered our marriage. That’s the story of how surrogacy for her sister turned Lisa from my beloved wife into a stranger and how I found my satisfaction in not saving her from her own choices. If that’s cruel, then cruelty was the price of my dignity, and it was a price I was more than willing to pay.
