My Husband Stole Our Baby for His Mistress

I heard Dr. Jones and Aunt Clara calling my name in alarm. Slowly, I opened my eyes, still groggy from the anesthesia.

"Amara, look at the baby. His little face is so pink and healthy!" Aunt Clara said, her voice bubbling with excitement.

But the moment I laid eyes on the child in her arms, something deep in my chest tightened. I couldn't shake the feeling. Something was wrong.

In my last life, my son had been switched.

The baby in Aunt Clara's arms shared similar features but was not identical to my son in the past. This baby clearly had warm honey-brown eyes.

But the boy who stabbed me eighteen years later? The one who called me selfish, who twisted the knife my mother-in-law handed him, who helped destroy my life, had swollen, dark brown eyes.

I reached out, wanting and needing to hold him. But just as my fingertips brushed the edge of the swaddle, Eleanor bulldozed straight into Aunt Clara, slamming her shoulder and snatching the baby right out of her arms.

"Newborns' bones aren't fully developed! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?" the surgeon snapped, glaring at her with pure rage.

But that woman didn't even flinch. Her expression twisted into something smug and defensive.

"I've raised two kids of my own. Don't act like you know more than me about holding a baby," Eleanor shot back, like she was teaching the doctor a lesson.

Then she turned downright nasty.

"You think you're something special just because you performed a C-section? If my daughter weren't too busy, I wouldn't have needed someone from outside to deliver my golden grandson. So do us all a favor and stay in your lane."

Once she'd yanked the baby away, she backed off behind Paul like she had every right in the world to do what she did.

Paul, cold as ever, looked the doctor right in the eyes and said, calm as you please, "Dr. Jones, my mom just wanted a quick look at the baby. He's been born for a while now, and she hasn't even gotten to see him. Of course she's anxious."

Then came the kicker.

"We're transferring to my sister's department tomorrow anyway. There's no need for you to get involved in our family's business."

Translation? Back off. You're no longer needed.

The surgeon didn't say a word. She gave one last furious glare and stormed out of the room.

"That damn surgeon thinks she runs the place," my mother-in-law grumbled. "If she hadn't stuck her nose in, I'd already be holding my grandson."

Then her eyes landed on Aunt Clara.

"And you," she spat, her tone like venom, "don't forget who signs your paycheck. You work for my son, Paul, and not her. Don't even think about crossing me."

Eleanor then hugged the baby so tightly that his little face scrunched up, and then the wailing began. His tiny cries pierced right through me.

"Mom, the baby's crying," I said gently. "Let me hold him for a bit."

But she took two steps back like I was covered in disease.

"You're soaked in blood and smell like it, too. I'm not letting that filth touch my grandson," she said, refusing even to meet my eyes.

Then, without another word, Eleanor turned and walked right out of the room, taking the baby with her.

I turned to Paul, my voice low and steady. "Why won't your mom let me see the baby? Did something happen while I was in surgery that she doesn't want me to know about?"

He kept his face neutral, but his eyes darted.

"She's just worried about you," he said carefully. "You barely made it through childbirth. She wants you to rest."

I let out a sharp laugh. "Oh, now she's worried? That's rich. I thought your mother was terrified I'd register the baby under my name. We agreed, didn't we? That the child would be registered under me. So why is she suddenly trying to change that?"

Paul hesitated, then gave the excuse like he'd rehearsed it in front of a mirror.

"Amara, I didn't think it through. When Mom heard the baby might be registered under your name, she couldn't sleep. She couldn't eat. She dropped so much weight."

He softened his tone, trying to come across as the good guy. "I know you only want what's best for our son. But you have to understand that Mom raised me all on her own after the divorce. It wasn't easy for her. If people in the neighborhood found out her grandson was registered under someone else's name, she'd be humiliated."

I stared at him. Not saying a word.

Paul took a step closer and reached out, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear like he used to do when we were in college.

"Amara, I already scolded her," he said softly. "I'm sorry for how she handled this. Please don't hold it against her. She's been through so much. I work far away, and I barely get to come home. Can't we just cut her a little slack?"

Inside, I was boiling.

I let out a short, cold laugh in my mind. 'Your mother's tough life isn't my responsibility. Her loneliness and bitterness aren't mine to fix. Those are the consequences of her own choices. What about me? You get to live wherever you want, with peace, while I'm stuck under the same roof as her. I've had to take every jab, every insult. Is that easy for me?'

Right then, I pushed his hand away and looked him right in the eye.

"But if the baby is registered under your name," I said flatly, "then my family's farmland and all 13 acres will go to waste."

Paul's eyes flickered. He opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something. I didn't let him.

"Well, since you and your mom already made that decision without me," I continued, "I'll respect it. I'll transfer ownership of the land to a friend."

Paul's expression shifted in an instant.

"That land's worth a lot," he said, his voice rising. "You can't just let that fall into someone else's hands!"

I stayed calm, already pulling out my phone.

"I don't have much of a choice," I said matter-of-factly. "You're always gone for work. Your mom refuses to move anywhere near my family's place back in Montana. So this is the only real option."

I started dialing.

Instantly, Paul lunged forward and snatched the phone right out of my hands, gripping it like a lifeline.

"If it's between your sketchy friends getting it or the government seizing it," he snapped, "I'd rather see it confiscated."