I always thought having a baby would bring my husband and me closer, that we would finally have the happy little family we had dreamed of. But I never imagined that the biggest challenge to our marriage wouldn’t come from us—it would come from his mother.

Jessica, my mother-in-law, had always been controlling, and unfortunately, my husband, Bill, never stood up to her. From the moment I found out I was pregnant, I thought I was the luckiest woman in the world. Bill and I had been trying for years, and now, our dream was finally coming true.

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

“Bill deserves someone better,” she once told him.

I had hoped that my pregnancy would change things, that maybe she would finally accept me. But instead, she only became more involved, intruding into every part of my life. She insisted on attending every doctor’s appointment, refusing to give us space.

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

Throughout my pregnancy, I struggled with severe nausea, barely able to keep food down. But Jessica didn’t care. She continued to push herself into every moment, making it clear she had no intention of stepping back. No matter how many times I asked Bill to set boundaries, he never did.

One day, we arrived at the clinic for my ultrasound appointment to find out the baby’s gender. To my shock, Jessica was already sitting in the waiting room.

“How did she know?” I whispered to Bill.

“I told her,” he admitted, avoiding my eyes.

I felt my stomach sink. I had specifically asked him not to, but once again, he had chosen his mother over me.

When the doctor revealed that we were having a girl, my heart swelled with happiness. A daughter—exactly what we had dreamed of. But before I could even celebrate the moment, Jessica sneered, “You couldn’t even give my son a boy. He needed an heir.”

I clenched my jaw. “An heir to what? His video game collection?” I snapped. “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.”

In the car, I turned to Bill, anger and hurt bubbling up inside me. “How did she find out about the appointment?”

“I told her,” he said again, as if it were no big deal.

“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.

Then came the birth. Everything happened so fast. The doctors rushed my daughter 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 spun, and then—darkness.

When I woke up, exhaustion and confusion clouded my mind. Before I could even process anything, the door burst open, and there was Jessica, 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 to my daughter.

“What a beautiful girl,” she cooed.

“She needs to be fed,” a nurse said firmly.

Jessica barely acknowledged her. “Then give her formula.”

“I’m going to breastfeed her,” I said, my voice shaking.

She was mine. My beautiful little girl. I wasn’t going to let anyone take her away from me.

Two weeks passed, and Jessica kept showing up unannounced, acting as if she had more rights over my child than I did. 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 full of cruel satisfaction.

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

I knew she had gone too far.

Shaking with fear and grief, I grabbed Eliza’s clothes. Silent sobs wracked my body as I packed, knowing this was the end of my marriage.

Days later, my mother took us in, holding me as I cried. 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 trembled as he opened it. “99.9%,” he whispered.

“Eliza is your daughter,” I told him.

His face crumbled. “Please… come back.”

I shook my head, stepping back.

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