An Idiot Wife's Last Surprise

Seven months pregnant, I sat alone in my Vancouver apartment, waiting for my baby's arrival while doomscrolling through trending posts on Reddit.

A discussion titled, "Should I make my husband experience labor pains?" caught my eye.

Among the countless comments, a reply with an attached photo was particularly jarring.

"Of course you should. I had my boyfriend try the labor pain simulator, and now he’s begging me not to go through with the real thing. It’s fine, though. I’m about to be a mom anyway."

Someone questioned: [If you're not giving birth, where's the baby coming from? Adoption?]

The original poster replied smugly: "My boyfriend's idiot wife is the one carrying it. She’s been desperate to conceive for five years, even quit her high-powered job for this. The second that baby is born, it’s mine."

She added: "She's seven months along, naively waiting at home for the baby to arrive, with no idea that it's my fertilized egg."

As a woman who had also struggled to conceive for five years, quit her job for the pregnancy, and was now seven months along, the post hit too close to home.

At that moment, I thought the poster was just some lunatic making up stories for attention. I silently seethed at her shamelessness.

I kept scrolling, but my breath hitched when I saw the fetal ultrasound video she posted next.

The hospital logo and medical record number flashing on the screen were sickeningly familiar.

The video she shared… was of my child.

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1

In disbelief, I pulled out my medical file from last week's prenatal check-up.

I wasn't mistaken. The video she’d posted was my child.

It all made sense now. The bizarre, satisfied smile Ryan always wore ever since I got pregnant. The way I couldn’t see a trace of myself in the baby's ultrasound photos.

I quickly clicked on her profile and found another trending post.

[A Vlog of me taking my boyfriend to experience labor pains]

His face was hidden, but one detail gave him away.

The man had the exact same tattoo on his left wrist as Ryan.

My heart stopped. I clutched my belly, fighting for breath.

No wonder Ryan had been so resistant a few months ago when I suggested we attend the labor pain simulation as part of our prenatal class.

So, he’d already experienced it—with another woman.

He knew the gut-wrenching pain of childbirth.

That's why he couldn't bear to let his beloved suffer. He would just use my womb to carry a child for his true love.

The comments erupted in outrage.

[Jesus, this is disgusting! Bump this post so the poor wife sees it. She can't be allowed to carry another woman's baby.]

[Isn't this a form of surrogacy fraud? Even if the baby is born, she won't get it. As the birth mother, the wife has custody rights. A homewrecker is just a homewrecker.]

[I feel so bad for that woman. She's seven months along; she definitely won't be able to bring herself to terminate the pregnancy.]

But the poster, this Chloe, was in the comments, replying to each one flamboyantly. I could practically smell her arrogance through the screen.

[So what if she sees it? She’s thirty-four and seven months pregnant. The risk of abortion is massive, and she’ll probably never conceive again. She won’t dare get rid of this baby.]

[You don't need to worry about the legal issues. My boyfriend said she quit her job to focus on the pregnancy and has no income. He'll file for divorce after the baby is weaned. A little alimony will be enough to get rid of her.]

[Getting a divorce will be a cakewalk. This woman has a thing about ‘emotional fidelity.’ We’ll just push her buttons a little, trigger some postpartum depression, and she’ll leave on her own.]

The smugness practically dripped off the screen, a poison seeping into my mind.

She was right. I did have a thing about emotional fidelity.

Due to severe late-pregnancy symptoms, I had been forced to resign from my high-paying job as a Senior Analyst. The transition from a career woman to a stay-at-home wife had already put me under immense mental stress.

If all this was true, it was highly likely I would indeed suffer from postpartum depression.

[Stop being so jealous. The reason she couldn't get pregnant for five years was mainly because I hadn't had enough fun yet and didn't want to be a mom so soon.]

[All those fertility vitamins she took while trying to conceive were swapped out for birth control pills by my boyfriend.]

That sentence struck me like a bolt of lightning.

I yanked open the drawer and grabbed the vitamin bottle.

Could it be true? Could these really be birth control?

My hands trembled. I refused to believe it. I immediately called a courier service to deliver the pills to my friend's lab for testing.

I stared intently at the screen, waiting for Chloe's latest reply.

Perhaps it was time for her afternoon tea, because the poster went silent.

No matter how many people cursed her, there were no new messages.

I gently stroked my swollen belly.

For this child, I had endured countless injections. The hormone medication had made me swell up, and my feet were so bloated I could barely walk.

To give up just because of some post that might not even be real? I couldn't. Even if there was a one-in-ten-thousand chance it was a prank, I couldn't bear to let go.

My thoughts were a tangled mess.

Confront Ryan now? Without proof, he would just chalk it up to pregnancy-induced paranoia.

Suddenly, a new reply appeared under the post.

[Stop with the jealousy, everyone. My boyfriend is taking a break from his busy schedule to have afternoon tea with me. He even made me dessert personally. He has no time for you all.]

She posted a photo. It was from Café Kitsuné. On the table were an exquisite matcha latte and a slice of strawberry cake.

And Ryan's office was right next door.

I called Ryan's phone. He declined it, again and again.

A message popped up on my phone. It was from Ryan.

Madison, I was just in a meeting. I'm going to the gym for a run now, and I bought your favorite coffee and dessert on the way.

Be home in half an hour.

I stared at the clock, counting every second.

Thirty minutes later, I heard the beeping of the keypad at the door.

"Madison, honey, come have some coffee. It's all your favorite."

He smiled and handed me a paper cup. But the moment my fingertips brushed the cup, an unnatural chill shot up my arm, sinking deep into my bones.

Tears streamed down my face.