After a Life-Threatening Childbirth, My Husband Wants to Kick Me and Our Baby Out Because of His Mother

I had always envisioned that the arrival of a baby would strengthen the bond between my husband and me, creating a deeper connection. However, I could never have anticipated that the true challenge to our relationship would stem from an external source—his mother. Jessica, my mother-in-law, possessed an uncanny ability to dominate her surroundings, and regrettably, my husband allowed her to do so. Despite my attempts to establish boundaries, I was unprepared for the profound sense of betrayal that ultimately left me at the threshold, cradling my newborn alone.

From the moment I learned of my pregnancy, I felt an overwhelming sense of joy. Bill and I had longed for this moment, eagerly anticipating the day we would finally welcome our child. However, it soon became evident that I was not the only one excited about this new addition.

Jessica, Bill’s mother, had also been looking forward to the arrival of the baby, albeit not in the manner one would expect from a grandmother.

She had never concealed her disdain for me, making it abundantly clear from the outset that she believed I was unworthy of her son. “Bill deserves someone better,” she would often whisper whenever I was present. When I became pregnant, the dynamics shifted, but not in the way I had envisioned.

It felt as though the baby belonged to her more than to me. Jessica intruded into every facet of my pregnancy from the very start. She insisted on accompanying me to every medical appointment, often taking control of even the most trivial decisions. “You need me there,” she would assert, already preparing to leave. “I know what is best.”

As for the nursery, she chose the furniture. Regarding baby supplies, she dismissed my preferences, and even before we knew the baby’s gender, she proclaimed, “The nursery should be blue. You will have a boy.”

Throughout my pregnancy, I endured relentless nausea, struggling to keep food down. Yet, Jessica remained indifferent. She would visit daily, filling our home with the aroma of greasy meals, while Bill eagerly indulged. Meanwhile, I found myself confined to the bathroom, overwhelmed.
I consistently urged Bill to refrain from sharing everything with her and to establish some boundaries, but my efforts were in vain. One day, as we arrived for the ultrasound to discover the baby’s gender, I was taken aback to find Jessica already seated in the waiting area. I was momentarily paralyzed with disbelief.

“How did she find out?” I murmured to Bill.

When the doctor announced that we were expecting a girl, I squeezed Bill’s hand, my heart racing with elation. This was the moment we had longed for—our precious daughter. I turned to Bill, anticipating to see the same joy mirrored in his expression.

However, before we could fully absorb the news, Jessica sneered, “You couldn’t even provide my son with a boy. He needed an heir.”

My stomach twisted in response. “An heir to what? His video game collection?” I retorted, struggling to keep my anger in check. “And for your information, the father determines the baby’s gender, not the mother.”

Her eyes narrowed in anger. “That’s a falsehood. Your body is the issue. You were never suitable for my son.”

The doctor cleared her throat awkwardly, while the nurse exchanged a sympathetic glance with me.

“Let’s go, Bill,” I said through gritted teeth, my heart heavy.

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

He hesitated, his voice barely above a whisper when he finally confessed, “I told her.”

Something within me broke.

“I specifically asked you not to!” I exclaimed.

“She’s the grandmother,” he replied, avoiding my gaze.

“And I’m your wife!” I countered, my voice shaking. “I’m carrying our daughter! Don’t you care about my feelings?”

“Just ignore her,” he muttered again, dismissing my distress as if it were insignificant.
It was easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one under attack. He wasn’t the one feeling completely isolated.

The agony of labor struck me like a freight train. Contractions surged rapidly, stealing my breath. My body shook, and my vision became hazy. It was too soon. I clutched Bill’s hand, gasping, “I can’t—”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” he reassured me, though his own face was ashen.
Bill exhaled deeply. “It all happened so quickly.”

“That is not a valid excuse!” Jessica retorted, her tone sharp and filled with malice.

At that moment, a nurse entered, cradling my baby. My heart tightened, but before I could extend my arms, Jessica advanced and seized her from the nurse.

“What a lovely little girl,” she purred.

I reached out for my child, but Jessica clutched her possessively.

“She requires feeding,” the nurse stated with authority.

Jessica barely acknowledged her. “Then provide her with formula.”

I compelled myself to sit up, pain radiating through my body. “I intend to breastfeed her,” I declared, my voice trembling.

Jessica’s expression hardened. “But then you will always be taking her away from me! You won’t be able to leave her with me!” Her tone became increasingly accusatory.

Finally, Bill intervened. He pried our daughter from Jessica’s grasp and placed her in my arms. The moment I held her, I succumbed to tears.

She was mine. She meant everything to me.

Two weeks went by, yet Jessica continued to appear uninvited. One afternoon, she stormed in, brandishing an envelope.

“Evidence,” she said with a smug smile, handing it to Bill.

“Evidence of what?” he inquired, bewildered.

“That Carol is unfaithful,” she spat venomously.

My heart sank.
Bill’s hands trembled as he opened the envelope, his expression darkening. He turned to me, his jaw set. “You and the baby need to leave within the hour.”

I gasped in disbelief. “What?! What have you done?” I shouted at Jessica.

She grinned maliciously. “You were never deserving of my son.”

Tears clouded my vision. Bill had not questioned her. He had not hesitated. He accepted her claims without a moment’s doubt.

I gathered Eliza’s belongings, trembling with fear and sorrow. I packed her things, silent sobs shaking my frame.

Before departing, I took Bill’s toothbrush.

The DNA Test That Altered Everything

Days later, my mother welcomed us, holding me as I wept.

Once I regained my composure, I knocked on Bill’s door. He opened it, his expression inscrutable.

I handed him an envelope.

“This contains the authentic DNA results.”