My world fell apart when my husband spoke those words to his pregnant ex-wife in that clinic waiting room. “She can’t find out,” he continued, and I believed I knew their horrible secret.
Was wrong. extremely, extremely incorrect.
This narrative isn’t what you think, so let me start at the beginning.
It seems my life was ideal. My husband was loving, my house was nice, and my job was good. Everything was going as planned.
Just about everything.
Only a baby was lacking from my life.
I tried to conceive for three years.
I tried hormone therapy, vitamins, doctors, and acupuncture. I cried alone in the bathroom after months of negative testing.
Jason, my husband, was always kind. Supportive always.
He held me when I broke down after another failed cycle. He’d tell me we had time and things would happen when it was meant to. I could tell it exhausted him too.
Worst part? I knew he had a son with Olivia, his ex-wife.
They conceived easily when married. This concept tormented me daily. Maybe it was my fault. My body may have been off. Maybe I was broken in a way that made me less womanly.
I was seized by evil ideas. I felt terrible jealousy and guilt watching other ladies drive strollers past our house. Why couldn’t I do what others did? Why was my body failing?
Jason never made me regret it. He never blamed me or seemed to regret marrying me. But I knew he wanted kids.
We discussed it before marriage. He raised his son well in his first marriage. I could tell he adored fatherhood.
So when my friend Sarah suggested a new reproductive clinic across town, I jumped at it. She heard their fresh approach and approaches were promising.
Sarah said, “They’re not like the other places,” over coffee. “They pay attention. They don’t treat everyone equally.”
That day, I scheduled an appointment.
I kept Jason out of the loop. I didn’t want to raise his hopes.
I decided to go, hear what they said, and bring him in if it appeared promising.
Consultation went well.
Kind and thorough, Dr. Martinez. Previously unasked questions were asked. For the first time in months, I felt somewhat hopeful.
I scheduled my follow-up appointment in the waiting room after we finished chatting.
Then my world collapsed.
Jason attended.
So was Olivia.
Olivia was clearly pregnant.
Like a bad movie spy, I hid behind the magazine rack. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t concentrate.
What were they doing here? Together? A fertility clinic?
Then I heard.
Jason leaned forward Olivia and murmured something chilling.
“She can’t find out,” he said, scanning the waiting room. I informed her of my late work tonight. Wait a minute, please. Promise to accomplish this. You understand our purpose.”
He hesitated and rubbed his head as usual when stressed.
“Same time next week?”
Olivia grinned in agreement, massaging her plump belly.
“Of course,” she whispered. Do not worry. Everything will go as planned.”
I almost vomited in that waiting room.
What was happening was plain to me. Jason had a pregnant ex-wife. Behind my back, they were having a baby. His baby I couldn’t give.
He intended to depart. Replace me with a functional body. He didn’t even tell me face-to-face.
I left that clinic by accident. No memory of walking to my car or driving home.
Jason was normal when he came home that night.
“How was your day, babe?”
I wanted to confront him then but didn’t. Not yet.
“Fine,” I managed. “Just tired.”
I sat at our kitchen table watching him make dinner as if nothing had changed. Like he wasn’t going to ruin our life.
“I have to work late again next Tuesday,” he remarked without looking at me. “Big project deadline coming up.”
It existed. A falsehood. Directly at me.
Next week felt like my longest week.
I scarcely ate or slept. I wanted to shove Jason away whenever he touched or claimed he loved me. How did he do that?
Tuesday came, and I was ready.
I knew the time and place from their whispers. I arrived at the clinic early and waited in my car in the parking area.
Jason’s automobile arrived at 3:30 p.m.
Olivia was waiting at the entryway.
I followed them in after watching them enter.
I shouted “Hey!”
Jason spun around and got white when he saw me.
Hands shaking, he mumbled “Rachel…” I planned to inform you. Please. Just join us inside. Sat down. Explaining everything.”
I entered that consultation room ready for my life struggle.
I got something I never expected.
Jason said, “It’s about Tyler,” gently. “Our son. He’s unwell, Rachel. Really sick.”
Jason had a 15-year-old son from his first marriage, Tyler. A nice kid who called me “bonus mom” and remembered my birthday.
I asked “What do you mean sick?”
Olivia spoke with tears in her eyes. He has leukemia. Extremely aggressive unusual variant. Doctors say he requires a stem cell transplant, but Jason and I are incompatible.”
“We’ve searched the national registry for months,” Jason said. “No matches anywhere. The doctors offered one last alternative.”
After sitting quietly in the corner, Dr. Martinez leaned forward. Sometimes parents aren’t matches, therefore we use IVF to make a sibling to harvest umbilical cord blood for transplant. Not assured, but often the last hope.”
I thought the room spun. “You’re having a baby to save Tyler?”
Olivia remarked, “We had to try,” covering her belly with her palm. “The doctors said if we didn’t act fast, Tyler might not make it to his sixteenth birthday.”
Jason grabbed my hand, but I resisted. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I’m an idiot,” he added, crying. I know how much you’ve endured trying to conceive. It was my belief that Olivia carrying my child would destroy you. I thought doing it myself would be easier.”
“I was wrong,” he said. “I was foolish to hide this. It’s not about replacing you or choosing her over you, Rachel. The goal is to save our son.”
Olivia spoke again. Rachel, there’s more. Something Jason doesn’t know.”
We both regarded her.
I want you to raise this kid once we extract cord blood for Tyler. Both of you.”
My mouth opened. “What?”
“I can’t handle two kids while Tyler’s going through treatment,” said. And honestly? You want to be a mother so much. I know you love a lot. This baby deserves it.”
“She’s offering to let us adopt the baby,” Jason remarked, appearing as astonished as I was.
I was speechless. Sitting there, I tried to digest everything.
Three months later, I held Olivia’s hand in a hospital room as she gave birth to the most gorgeous girl. Cord blood was immediately taken to the lab.
“She’s yours now,” Olivia whispered as the nurses placed the little, exquisite infant in my arms.
Grace is our baby, and we couldn’t be happier. I became a mother after years of grief and empty arms. I’m a mother even if I didn’t give birth.
I’m Grace’s mommy and proud.
And the transplant? Was successful. Cord blood matched perfectly.
Sometimes the best gifts come in the scariest packages. I almost lost everything because I was terrified to trust. Grace showed me love isn’t always what we expect.
Before she was born, she saved her brother.
She also saved my.
If you liked this tale, try another: The things my stepdaughter brought home were expensive clothes and technology, and I believed her mother was indulging her. But the truth was worse than I expected.
