I always believed that having a baby would bring my husband and me closer, that we would build a happy little family together. But I never imagined that the biggest threat to our relationship wouldn’t come from within—it would come 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 thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. Bill and I had dreamed of this moment for years, and now, our family was finally growing.

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

“Bill deserves someone better,” she once said.

I tried to ignore her, hoping that once I carried her grandchild, she would soften toward me. But I was wrong. The moment I announced my pregnancy, she became even more involved in our lives, inserting herself into every aspect of it. She insisted on attending every doctor’s appointment.

“You need me to come with you,” she would say. “I know what’s best.”

I spent most of my pregnancy battling severe nausea, barely able to keep food down, but Jessica didn’t care. I asked Bill repeatedly to stop telling her everything and to set some boundaries, but he never listened.

One day, when we arrived at the clinic for the ultrasound to find out our baby’s gender, 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 a lump in my throat. I had asked him not to, but once again, he put his mother’s feelings before mine.

When the doctor revealed 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 stomach churned. “An heir to what? His video game collection?” I shot back. “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.”

Once we were in the car, I turned to Bill, furious. “How did she find out about the appointment?”

“I told her,” he repeated.

“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. My daughter was rushed 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 blurred, then faded to black.

When I woke up, I was exhausted and disoriented. 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 glanced at 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 filled with cruel satisfaction.

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

Jessica had gone too far.

I packed Eliza’s things, my hands trembling. Silent sobs wracked my body as I held my newborn, my heart breaking.

Days later, my mother took us in, comforting me as I cried. But 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 fell. “Please… come back.”

I shook my head, stepping back.

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