At seven months pregnant with twins, my world shattered. I got a message from my husband’s boss, Veronica. I thought it was work-related. But when I opened it?
A picture.
Eric.
Shirtless.
Smirking.
Captioned: “It’s time for you to know. He’s mine.”
By evening, I was waiting for him, heart pounding. When the door opened—he wasn’t alone. Veronica waltzed in like she owned the place.
Eric sighed. “Lauren, let’s be adults. I love Veronica. I’m leaving you.”
Then Veronica crossed her arms. “And since this is his apartment, you’ll need to move out by the end of the week.”
I saw red. “I have nowhere to go! I’m carrying HIS children!”
She tilted her head. “Twins, right? I’ll rent you a house, cover expenses… if you give me one of your babies.”
My blood ran cold. “What?!”
“Twins are hard. But I want a baby—without ruining my body.” She stroked Eric’s chest. “I’ll raise the child as mine. You get a roof over your head. It’s a fair deal.”
Eric just nodded.
Like this was normal.
I wanted to scream.
Instead, I forced a tearful smile.
“Deal. But I have one condition.”
Veronica smirked. “Smart girl. What’s the condition?”
They had no idea what was coming.
I dabbed at my eyes dramatically and let my voice tremble just enough to sound believable.
“I want it in writing,” I said. “The house, the expenses… the baby. A contract. Signed. Legal. No confusion later.”
Veronica raised an eyebrow but shrugged. “Fine. That’s reasonable.”
Eric, spineless as ever, just stood there while she pulled out her phone. “I’ll have my lawyer draft it tonight,” she said, already typing.
I smiled. “Perfect.”
For the next week, I played along. I went to the doctor. I let them accompany me to an ultrasound. Veronica squealed like it was her child, pointing at the screen and asking for printouts. Eric pretended to care, but he couldn’t meet my eyes.
Meanwhile, I recorded everything.
Every conversation.
Every text.
Every unhinged demand.
I consulted a lawyer of my own—one who specialized in family law and coercive contracts. He was horrified. “You realize this could count as attempted baby trafficking, right?” he asked.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” I said.
By the time the contract was ready, Veronica thought she had won. She handed me a pen and said, “Just sign here—and remember, I get to name my baby.”
I signed.
So did she.
And then?
I stood up and handed the folder to the plainclothes detective waiting in the hallway.
“You may want to read that contract out loud,” I said, smiling for real this time.
Within minutes, officers arrived. Veronica screamed as they cuffed her for attempted illegal adoption, coercion, and conspiracy to commit fraud. Eric tried to run—until he realized he’d just confessed to everything on camera, during our little “agreement meetings.”
The apartment?
In my name. I’d been paying the mortgage with my savings for over a year.
The babies?
Born healthy two months later. Both stayed with me.
Eric?
Lost his job, his reputation, and any custody rights. He begged for another chance. I sent him the same photo Veronica had sent me:
“It’s time for you to know. They’re mine.”
Epilogue – One Year Later
My twin daughters, Emma and Elise, are thriving. They have my smile, my strength, and thank God, none of their father’s cowardice. Our home—the one Eric thought I’d be thrown out of—is now warm, full of laughter, and completely mine.
Veronica?
She took a plea deal. Five years probation, community service, and mandatory psychological counseling. Her name became viral on social media for all the wrong reasons. Turns out, the internet doesn’t take kindly to rich women trying to buy babies like handbags.
Eric disappeared into obscurity after getting fired. Last I heard, he was working night shifts at a shipping warehouse and couch-surfing at a friend’s place. Occasionally, he sends emails begging for “a fresh start” or asking to “see the girls.”
I never respond.
They’re better off without him.
Instead, I built something real. I launched an online support group for single mothers called “Strong as Two”—a community for women blindsided by betrayal but determined to rise. It grew faster than I expected. Sponsorships, donations, brand partnerships—turns out, people like survivors who fight back with grace and fire.
I’m not bitter. I’m free.
Some people get diamonds for their anniversary.
I got justice, peace, and two little miracles who remind me every day:
I didn’t lose anything.
I finally gained everything.
